


Whatever It Takes

by smarshtastic



Series: SALTapalooza [13]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Amputation, Blackwatch Era, Blood Loss, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Life-Affirming Sex, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 11:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12958458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic
Summary: Gabe tries not to think about how many times he’s done this - how many times he’s sent Jesse out there, and how many times Jesse’s come back hurt, injured, missing another piece of himself. How much longer can Gabe do this to him?---Five times Gabe saved Jesse's life, and one time Jesse saved Gabe's.





	Whatever It Takes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabrega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/gifts).



> Week 12 of [SALTapalooza](https://saltapalooza.tumblr.com/)! This is my version of the "5 + 1" trope. This is a fourteen part series that is (gasp!) ending next week. 
> 
> Feel free to come yell at [me](https://twitter.com/smarshtastic/) or [fabrega](https://twitter.com/carithlee) about this on twitter! ♥
> 
>  **EDIT** : YOO! There's some FANTASTIC art to go with section 4 - find it [HERE](http://confessionsofasexytorturedmage.tumblr.com/post/169520607657/nsfw-belowmore-super-based-on-the-awesome-fic) by confessionsofasexytorturedmage!!! ( *_*)♡

#  1

Gabe is achingly, bone-tired. His ears are still ringing from the explosions of the Deadlock weapons cache. Jack’s saying it was a successful operation, but it certainly doesn't feel very good. Sure, Overwatch might not have lost any people, but plenty of the gang members died. Deadlock had been ruthless; playing dirty, happy to sacrifice their own to let a few of their higher ups escape. Most of those who had died were young, too young.

An unfitting end to what was supposed to have been a mutually beneficial working relationship. Deadlock had been invaluable during the Omnic Crisis; it was a large part of how the United States was able to keep its head above water and its troops armed to the teeth. But with the Crisis over, the United Nations didn’t see the utility in keeping a gang full of felons around any longer - not when they had Overwatch (Blackwatch, specifically) on their payroll - and the Deadlock leaders didn’t take kindly to being made the fall guy. It culminated in a shootout, just like Gabe warned that it would. It didn’t have to end this way, and yet: here they are. 

They didn't manage to bring too many gang members in alive. A handful managed to get away while the few remaining live ones were brought in for questioning. Gabe is supposed to go  check in on them now - or that's what Jack is saying in his ear. Gabe pulls the earpiece out. He needs a moment. 

Gabe takes no pleasure in killing, in brutality. He’ll do what he needs to do to get the job done, even if he doesn't sleep well at night after the fact. The world needs people like him - willing to do the dirty work to keep everyone else safe. Some days are just harder than others. 

Gabe manages to find a quiet place to splash some water over his face, to take off the top layer of smoke and blood. He grips the edges of the sink, the injury in his hand already healing over as he watches the grime swirl away down the drain. His breath sticks in his throat. It was a successful operation, Gabe tells himself. They did what was necessary. The world is a safer place because of his efforts. 

He replaces the beanie on his head and makes his way back to their field command center. Gabe barely makes it into the hallway before he's greeted with chaos. He grabs the nearest agent. 

“What's going on?” Gabe snaps. The agent blinks then straightens, relief washing over their face. 

“Commander Reyes - thank god - we couldn't find you -”

“What. Is going. On,” Gabe repeats, biting out each word. 

“One of the gang members escaped,” the agent says hurriedly. “We can't find him.”

Gabe lets his breath out slowly in an effort to remain calm. His long day is about to get longer. He rubs a hand over his face. 

“Where was he last seen?”

“They were taking him into holding - I'm not exactly sure what happened, but it sounds like he incapacitated two agents and slipped his cuffs,” the agent says. Gabe sets his jaw. 

“Where are the agents now?”

“Medical.”

“Does Morrison know?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Keep it that way.”

Gabe makes his way to their makeshift medical bay. The two agents are still unconscious, and nobody can give him any better information than the agent in the hallway. One of the agents is missing their sidearm. Gritting his teeth, Gabe orders his best agents out to sweep the facility, with a few more deployed to scout the surrounding area. He reins in the panic with a few level-headed conversations - it's not doing anyone any good to freak out - before he goes looking for the escaped gang member himself. 

If you want a job done right...

Gabe makes a beeline to their temporary armory first, but the doors are locked, all the security measures intact and untampered with. That's a good sign at least. All Gabe has to worry about is the sidearm. Not ideal, but it could've been worse. 

Leaving the armory behind, Gabe sweeps the building himself, keeping a careful eye out for anything that looks out of place. He's always hyper-aware of his surroundings; Jack calls him paranoid, but it's gotten them out of scrapes on more than one occasion. 

It's the air vent in the garage that gives it away: the grating had been unscrewed and arranged back in place very carefully, but now only hangs from one screw instead of four. Gabe checks their transport vehicles, but they appear untouched. He finds a tablet on one of the mechanic’s benches and, using his authorization code, pulls up the building’s blueprints. The vent in question doesn't open to the outside - that's good at least. Gabe sends a quick note to the search parties before he sets the tablet back down and walks over to the vent. He crouches down and moves the screen aside. 

Gabe doesn't know what he was expecting, really, but he didn't expect the scrawny  _ kid _ huddled in the duct. The kid’s head snaps up from where it was resting between his knees. He bares his teeth at Gabe - there's blood on them. Gabe can see the barrel of the gun poking out at Gabe under the kid’s knees. 

“This vent doesn't connect to the outside,” Gabe says evenly. 

“I know,” the kid scowls. “You wanna shoot me already?”

“Not really,” Gabe says. “You wanna come out of there?”

“Not really,” the kid echoes with an edge to his voice. Gabe rolls his eyes. He sits back on his heels. 

“We can wait it out, then,” Gabe says. “I'm very patient.”

Gabe settles in. The kid’s eyes don't leave Gabe’s face. Gabe meets the gaze with a cool look of his own. The kid looks away first, but doesn't put the gun down. Gabe lets the silence stretch on; he's happy to sit here for as long as it takes to break the kid’s resolve. It's practically peaceful. Heaven knows Gabe could use the respite. 

The kid shifts restlessly; Gabe hears the gun tap against the floor of the duct. 

“The two agents you took out are going to live,” Gabe offers. The kid sits up a little straighter. 

“I could've killed them if I wanted to,” he says, defensive. 

“Yeah, but you didn't.”

The kid scowls again but doesn't say anything else. Gabe lets the silence hang between them again. 

“What's gonna happen to me?” the kid asks. Gabe shrugs. 

“Can't say for sure. You'll stand trial, probably go to jail. I suppose we can add two more assaults to your rap sheet.”

“They lived,” the kid says, defensive. 

“Resisting arrest, too,” Gabe adds. “Damage of government property. On top of what you've already done. I'm guessing you're going to be looking at the inside of a supermax for a long, long time. I'm guessing Deadlock isn't exactly popular in those kinds of places.”

The kid looks away, hunching his shoulders. Gabe would almost feel bad for him if he wasn't a murderous terrorist. 

“What's your name, kid?” Gabe asks. 

“I'm not a kid,” he snaps. Gabe rolls his eyes. 

“Alright. I'll make a note that we can try you as an adult.”

“Fuck you,” the kid spits. 

“You really want to take that tack with me?” Gabe asks. “You're only going to make it worse for yourself.”

The laugh that the kid lets out is bitter, hollow. It's a sound that should never come from someone as young as he probably is. 

“Worse, yeah,” the kid says. “I reckon it's about as  _ worse _ as it can get.”

“You could be dead like some of your friends,” Gabe points out. The kid snorts. 

“Reckon they're the lucky ones,” the kid says. His voice wavers a little. He adjusts his grip on the gun. He looks back at Gabe, jaw set stiffly, defiantly. 

Gabe suddenly places the kid’s face: he saw him in the warehouse, where everything went wrong. Gabe had come around a corner in search of cover, going for a pile of crates. A shot ricocheted off the wall behind his head and Gabe came face to face with two gang members - two  _ kids _ . Time slowed down. The boy who shot at him stared at him, mouth open, and then his head exploded with the force of a sniper’s bullet. Gabe closed his eyes against the spray of blood and gore, and when he opened them, the remaining kid - the one now huddled in the air vent - was clutching the body of the dead boy, covered in his blood, looking at Gabe with wide, horrified eyes, his gun hand completely steady as he pointed a revolver at Gabe’s chest. 

Time sped up again. Gabe reached for his gun but the kid was faster: a shot rang out. Instead of taking the impact into his chest like he expected, though, the bullet grazed his hand. It took him by surprise. Gabe dropped his gun. When he looked up, the kid was gone, the body of his friend left behind, oozing blood and brain matter onto the concrete floor. 

Gabe feels something clench around his heart. He flexes his bandaged hand. 

“Are you hurt?” Gabe asks, his voice going gentler than he means it to. The kid shrugs, back to avoiding Gabe’s gaze. 

“Most of the blood ain't mine.”

“What's your name?” 

“McCree. Jesse McCree.”

“Well, McCree,” Gabe says. “You got two choices. You either bleed out in that duct, or you come with me to get cleaned up.”

“And get sent to jail? I'll take my chances in here,” McCree says. He taps the floor with his gun. “I'm gettin’ real cozy.”

“I said you had a choice, but I didn't add the third option.”

“What's that?”

“I get you out of there myself,” Gabe says. McCree looks up at Gabe’s face, trying to gauge how serious he is. Gabe meets his eyes coolly. He doesn't want to hurt the kid any more than he already has, but he's not about to leave him in the air vent either. 

“You could just let me die in here,” McCree says finally. “Ain't nobody would blame you, probably.”

“Can't do that,” Gabe says shortly. 

“What, you some kinda hero or something?”

“Or something.”

McCree snorts. “Jesus.”

“Reyes, actually. Gabriel Reyes,” Gabe says. He doesn't miss the way the kid’s eyes widen a little. Gabe shakes his head - he'll never be rid of the scars Omnic Crisis left behind, in more ways than one. He changes the subject. “How'd you'd slip the cuffs?”

“It ain't that hard,” McCree says. “Just gotta get your thumb through.”

“You could really hurt yourself, you know.”

McCree snorts again. “Yeah.”

Gabe lets out his breath in a little huff. “Look, we've had a long day. Let's get you cleaned up.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You're not gonna like it when I bring the rest of my agents in to remove you.”

“I told you, I'm real comfy right here. I ain't going to jail.”

“Maybe you should've thought about that before you got involved with a gun smuggling terrorist organization.”

McCree gives Gabe a long look that he can't quite place - like he's deciding something, maybe. Some of the fight seems to go out of him; the kid’s shoulders sag slightly. 

“Yeah, well I guess foresight ain't really my specialty,” McCree says, looking away for a moment. “You're not gonna kill me?”

“I think I've had quite enough of that for today,” Gabe says honestly. McCree snorts humorlessly. 

“Well ain't that a damn shame.”

McCree shifts, pushing himself up from his seated position. Gabe stops him. 

“Hold on just a second. Why don't you slide that gun to me first?”

McCree pauses, then scowls. He slides the gun down the duct to Gabe. 

“You don't trust me?”

“Not as far as I can throw you,” Gabe says, grabbing the gun as it skitters to a stop at his feet. He takes out the magazine and tosses it aside. “Which would actually be pretty far, so a lot less than that.”

“Funny,” McCree says, easing himself back out towards Gabe. Gabe gets up, takes a step back to give him enough room to get out. McCree eases himself out of the vent and in the light of the garage, Gabe can get a much better look at him: he’s scrawny, underfed, with long hair half-hidden under a ratty old hat and a scraggly attempt at facial hair. He might be young, but he’s obviously seen some shit. Something inside of Gabe can’t reconcile the morality of sending someone in his position away to prison - even if McCree is a tried and true member of the Deadlock gang, he’s still young enough to turn his life around. He just has to want it. 

Once McCree straightens, Gabe pulls his arms behind his back. He feels him stiffen, start to resist, but Gabe tightens his hands around McCree’s wrists. 

“If you help me, I can help you,” Gabe says, voice low. He can’t see McCree’s face, but he watches his shoulders go tense. 

“I’m not really that kind of guy,” McCree says after a moment. Gabe feels another little jolt of sympathy. 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Gabe says. “If you help us out, give us some information, you might be able to avoid jail altogether.” 

McCree doesn’t exactly relax, but he does turn his head slightly toward Gabe. “What if I don’t got any information to give?”

“I’m sure you have something,” Gabe says. He nudges McCree towards the door, keeping his grip tight around his wrists. McCree walks jerkily, limping slightly. They walk in silence. Gabe lets him mull over his suggestion. He hopes - irrationally, maybe - that McCree will take the opportunity to do something to save himself. 

Gabe gets McCree into an interrogation room and cuffs his hands to the table. He notices McCree’s thumb is still out of place, so he’s careful. Still, McCree tests the shackles after Gabe lets go. 

“Don’t get any ideas now,” Gabe says. “The door locks from the outside.”

McCree scowls and slouches down in his seat as far as he can go. Gabe rolls his eyes a little. He leaves McCree behind in the interrogation room. As the door locks behind him, Gabe grabs the nearest agent. 

“Keep an eye on him,” he says. Gabe leaves the agent behind and goes to call Jack. He’s starting to form an idea - it’s a crazy idea, to be sure, but Gabe has a hunch that he’d like to be able to prove out. 

Gabe finds a tablet and pulls up the UN’s criminal database. He searches “McCree, Jesse,” not expecting to find much. He’s surprised - but maybe he shouldn’t be - when he finds a long rap sheet under his name. Weapons smuggling, arson, petty theft, grand theft, assault, underage drinking - to name a few. The dossier the Overwatch team put together lists McCree as one of the key tacticians of the Deadlock gang, but other than the list of charges against him, the information on McCree is fairly thin. It seems like nobody realized McCree is so young. 

The United Nations, Overwatch - they’re calling him a criminal. Gabe, reading between the lines, sees potential. 

Gabe paces his small temporary office while the comms ring. He hopes that Jack’s still in a good mood from the initial mission reports from earlier in the afternoon. He’s going to need all the ammunition he can get. 

“Morrison,” Jack answers. Gabe stops pacing. “It’s about time you checked in, Gabe.”

“Had a few loose ends to tie up,” Gabe says. Jack hums. 

“Nothing too serious, I hope?”

“It’s all under control, Jack,” Gabe says evenly. 

“Good - that’s good. This is a big deal for me,” Jack says. Gabe clenches his hand around his comm and immediately regrets it, the bullet graze pulling. This sort of talk from Jack is starting to become a worrying - and annoying - trend. “It’s a big win.”

“It’s going to make a difference,” Gabe agrees. 

“Anything else I should know? I have to meet with the press secretary,” Jack says. Gabe knows he won’t get another chance. 

“Yeah. One more thing,” Gabe says. “I want to recruit one of the prisoners.”

There’s a long pause on the other end. 

“Are you joking?” Jack asks after a moment. The pleased note in his voice is all but gone. Gabe presses on. 

“No,” Gabe says. “This was part of the deal - I get a team to run as I see fit, and I want to recruit this kid.”

“Kid?”

“He’s young - there’s no way he’s of age. If we trained him from the ground up -”

“I don’t care if he’s a kid, Gabe, he’s a  _ terrorist _ ,” Jack says. All the good will has evaporated. 

“Everyone should get a second chance,” Gabe shoots back. “He’s a kid, he could turn his life around, do some good. If we throw him in jail and throw away the key, there’s no hope for him.”

“Since when do you take in strays?”

“Listen, do you want me to have a team or not?”

“This isn’t about running your team - this is about pardoning a known terrorist.”

“The UN just decided they were terrorists last week."

“It’s a ridiculous ask, and you know it, Gabe.”

“Jack, do you trust me?” Gabe asks. There’s a pause that causes a pang in Gabe’s chest. He’s suddenly, painfully aware of the distance that’s grown between them. “Jack?”

“I trust you, Gabe,” Jack says finally, quietly. 

“Then give the kid a chance. Let me try to make something good out of this whole situation.”

“It was good before you started in with your crazy ideas,” Jack says sourly. 

“Jack.”

Jack sighs. “If that kid puts a toe over the line -”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“He’s your responsibility - I mean it, Gabe. I won’t have him ruining Overwatch because a kid terrorist can’t be taught to mind his manners.”

“I said I’ll take care of it, Jack.”

“Fine. He’s your problem. But don’t make me regret this.”

After Gabe hangs up, he makes his way back to the interrogation room. He doesn’t go in right away, but stops to look through the one way mirror at McCree. He’s still slouched in his seat, head tipped down toward his chest, shoulders hunched. In spite of Jack’s derision, in spite of the uncertainty, Gabe knows he’s doing the right thing here. 

He lets himself into the interrogation room. 

“McCree,” Gabe says, dropping his tablet on the table across from the kid as he sits down. The noise startles McCree - his head jerks up. “Do you want to do something good with your life?”

McCree looks at him, the suspicion clear on his face. He won’t trust easily - maybe he never will - but that won’t matter if he chooses this. 

“What, swap one gang for another?” McCree asks bitterly. 

“You want to take your chances in prison then?”

McCree looks away and shrugs. 

“You’ll die in there.”

McCree snorts. Gabe leans forward, chasing McCree’s gaze with his own. McCree looks at him without turning his head, eyes narrowed. 

“Everyone here thinks you’re a good-for-nothing terrorist. Deadlock’s finished - and they’re no friends of yours. Nobody thinks you’re worth anything,” Gabe says. “So prove them wrong.”

McCree turns his head to level a look at Gabe.

“What’s in it for you?” McCree asks. Gabe shrugs. 

“Knowing I did the right thing.”

“Oh, jesus, you’re one of those people?”

It’s Gabe’s turn to snort. “I don’t make a habit of it.”

McCree sits back in his seat, tugging a little on the shackles around his wrists. He’s avoiding Gabe’s eyes again. Gabe waits, letting McCree mull it over. It has to be his own decision, he has to want it. 

“So… What happens if I fuck up? You send me to jail anyway?”

“That’s the idea, yeah,” Gabe says. 

“Guess I better not fuck up then.”

Gabe smiles in spite of himself. 

“Welcome to Blackwatch, McCree.”

#  2

It’s a scramble to get out of the facility, but there’s no time to think twice about it. Gabe gives the order to fall back and listens to each of his agents radio in to acknowledge the order over the sound of the chaos around them. He books it to the extraction point, heart pounding in his chest and sweat running down his neck. The mission plan didn’t account for this, but Blackwatch does their best work when they’re improvising. They’re always prepared for the worst. 

Gabe doesn't have time to do a headcount before the shuttle takes off. The explosion goes off early and catches the tail end of their escape, sending the shuttle spinning off its path. Tack Newton, new to the team, doesn't bat an eye. He corrects course and pulls the shuttle up above the remains of the building below without any color commentary. It’s a beautiful maneuver - Gabe is immediately grateful that he put up the fight to get the Newtons on his team. 

“Course laid in, sir,” Tack says, glancing up over his shoulder at Gabe, who had been hovering behind his seat through the ordeal. Gabe claps him on the shoulder. 

“Good work,” he says. “ETA?”

“Forty minutes, give or take,” Tack replies, shying away from Gabe’s hand, but looking pleased with himself nonetheless. “Looks like the shuttle took minimal damage in the explosion, so we'll make good time.”

“Excellent,” Gabe says. He moves back to check on the rest of his team. They might be a ragtag bunch, but they are all highly trained: no major injuries to report and, while the force of the explosion was largely unplanned, it did have the effect of neutralizing the threat. 

All in a day’s work. 

Gabe is about to let himself sit down for the rest of the flight when Shiga’s voice rises above the low chatter and the hum of the engine. 

“Hey, where's McCree?”

Gabe’s head snaps around. The other agents are looking between themselves, the chatter growing louder with increasing alarm. Blackwatch is known for its excellent track record: they've never lost an agent on a mission. It's not that their work is not dangerous - they take on the most high-risk of the UN’s assignments - it's that they're just  _ that  _ skilled. Blackwatch has assembled an experienced group of agents with refined, specialized skill sets. They're highly trained, talented individuals that make the team as successful as it has been. They've had close calls, sure, and plenty of injuries - but everyone goes home at the end of the day. It’s a point of pride for Gabe. He feels his throat constrict at the thought of marring his spotless record. Especially with  _ McCree _ . 

To say that Gabe has a soft spot for McCree would be a gross understatement. In the few short years since Gabe pulled McCree out of Deadlock and a practically guaranteed prison sentence, McCree has blossomed. He's taken to Blackwatch like a duck to water. Behavioral issues aside, McCree is a crack shot, a brilliant tactician, and, as it turns out, an extraordinarily capable agent. His weapons expertise from his time in Deadlock has been invaluable in the field, and he's willing to work on a team when he has to - he’s great on a team, though he still tends to prefer to be alone in most circumstances. Gabe can overlook the the off-duty drinking since it hasn't affected McCree’s ability to perform in the field. The anger and problems with authority have been getting better, even, and Gabe hasn't found McCree slurring incoherently in a dark corner of the base for some time now. 

To lose McCree now, after months and months of patient training, would be a devastating blow. 

Valdez is attempting to triangulate into McCree’s comm signal while Prithi radios in to see if she can get a verbal response. Gabe hovers over their shoulders, arms folded tightly over his chest and jaw stiff. Finally, Valdez looks up at him and shakes her head, just once, her expression grim. 

“There's too much interference off the explosion,” she says. “If he survived…”

Gabe turns away abruptly. “Newton,” he barks. “How close to the base are we?”

“Five minutes out, sir.”

Gabe pinches the bridge of his nose. “Make it three. We'll drop off everyone who needs medical and then we're looping back for recon.”

“Yes sir,” Newton says immediately, though there's an unsure waver to his voice. Still, Gabe feels the shuttle’s engines rev under his feet and they make it back to the base in under three minutes. A handful of agents get off the ship, but nearly everyone who’s able stays onboard. The camaraderie forged in Blackwatch runs deep; none of them want to lose a fellow agent. 

Tack Newton swings the transport shuttle back around. They make excellent time back to the mission site, which still doesn’t feel fast enough for Gabe. He stands completely still, face impassive, as his mind plays through all the likely scenarios they’ll find once they’re on the ground. Nothing he can come up with looks good. The odds are decidedly not in their favor. 

Tack lands the shuttle safely away from the explosion, which is still smoldering, choking the air with embers and smoke. 

“Suit up,” Gabe says. “Stick together in pairs, don’t wander off alone. How do the comms look?”

“There’s still some interference, but I think we can get our signals through,” Prithi says.

“Think?” Gabe asks. Prithi spreads her hands. 

“There’s no telling how it’ll affect the signal once we get in there,” she says. 

“McCree’s comms still aren’t pinging back,” Valdez puts in. “They’re probably… down.”

Gabe swallows down the bile that suddenly comes up the back of his throat. He shakes his head and adjusts his earpiece. 

“Move out. Newton, stay with the shuttle, on standby with medical supplies.”

“Yes sir.”

The Blackwatch strike team hops out of the shuttle with oxygen masks on, Prithi and Valdez heading around the east side of the burning building while Edwards and Shiga head west. Gabe gives himself a moment to contemplate the charred facade of what remains of the weapons cache. It shouldn’t have gone like this. They should’ve been more prepared. 

Gabe mentally chastises himself and forces his mind to compartmentalize. He can beat himself up for this later; right now, it’s more important to locate his missing agent. 

“Comm check,” Gabe says as he makes his way into the blackened rubble. 

“Jayachandran reporting.”

“Valdez checking in.”

“Edwards here.”

“Shiga’s here too.”

Gabe lets a breath out; there’s a little static, but nothing major. “Loud and mostly clear. Keep me posted if you find anything, otherwise keep the lines clear, copy?”

A chorus of affirmatives come through the comms and Gabe can’t help but feel a glimmer of pride for his ragtag troop of Overwatch’s misfits. For as much shit as gets thrown at them, they’ve been able to rise above it on almost every occasion. Gabe feels, more than ever, that he has to do right by them. 

The building is hopelessly ruined - the charges that Blackwatch put into place did their job more than excellently, reducing the weapons hidden inside to an unusable mess. It may not have gone exactly according to plan, but the result ultimately accomplishes the same end. Gabe steps carefully, mindful of the compromised structure of the remaining building; there’s a handful of support beams hanging ominously above Gabe’s head. He keeps his ears open as he tries to put himself into McCree’s head so that he can retrace his steps. 

McCree had been assigned to take stock of the weapons hidden inside the building, given his lengthy field experience dealing with such weapons deals during his time in Deadlock. He had gone in alone while the other agents set the explosives to destroy the building. Gabe tries to remember when McCree had checked in last, before he gave the order to pull out. He can’t remember. McCree could be anywhere in the building, his body… 

Gabe’s feet slip on some of the rubble as the thought crosses his mind. He catches himself before he goes down and forces his brain to push that thought aside. The odds might be bleak, but McCree has proven again and again that he can defy expectations. There’s no reason to think that this time is any different. 

In the middle of the warehouse, along what used to be some kind of dividing wall, there’s a heavy steel door that looks like it’s been punched in, a huge dent in the middle of it. It’s mostly withstood the blast, even though the room behind it is caved in. Gabe feels a spark of hope ignite in his chest. He goes for the blackened door but it doesn’t budge; the rubble must be blocking the way. Rather than letting his frustration take over, Gabe examines the door and what’s left of the wall around it. He finds a weak point in the crumbled wall, digs his fingers in and pulls hard. The wall gives way, sending bits of concrete raining down on Gabe’s head, but it’s enough to give him room to pry the door open. 

There isn’t much to see. The ceiling appears to have caved in on what must have been a small, cramped office at one point. Gabe steps onto a slab of fallen drywall, careful not to put his foot through it, and does his best to sweep the room. His heart sinks: nothing. 

Gabe turns back to the door, picking his way through the rubble. He’s about to step through the door again when a movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. He turns and then he sees it: an arm poking out, fingers scrabbling against a pile of ceiling tiles that are nearly covering some large metal box. A safe, Gabe’s mind supplies even as he lurches to the limb. He forces himself to go slowly - he can’t be sure how stable any of the wreckage is, and, if this is McCree, he doesn’t want to do any more harm. 

Slowly, carefully, Gabe digs around the arm until he can make out the Blackwatch logo through the dust on his sleeve. Relief washes over him. He digs with renewed vigor, following the line of McCree’s shoulder until he finds his neck, then his head. 

Predictably, McCree’s in bad shape: one eye is swollen shut, blood mixed with ash and dust as it runs down his face, and the arm that was poking out of the rubble is surely broken, bent at an odd angle. McCree’s one good eye squints against the sudden light. 

“Commander?” he rasps, the words barely audible. Gabe fumbles for his oxygen mask and yanks it off. The air quality is horrible - the chemicals from the destroyed weapons mingling with the ash and smoke - but Gabe, with his SEP-enhanced physiology, can tolerate it. McCree needs the clean oxygen more right now. 

“Yeah,” Gabe says, scraping more rubble out of the way and pressing the mask to McCree’s face. “Don’t move. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

McCree’s eye flutters shut, his labored breaths fogging the mask. 

“Leave,” McCree croaks. Gabe freezes. 

“No,” he says sternly. “We don’t leave people behind.”

McCree doesn’t say anything but his breaths continue to fog the mask, so Gabe takes it as a good sign. He radios in to the rest of the team. 

“I got him. Can you get a read on my position?”

There’s a pause, then a chorus of staticky affirmative overlap each other on the comms. Once Gabe is sure the rest of the squad is on their way, he starts digging McCree out from the pieces of ceiling tiles, office furniture, and shattered drywall. McCree seems to have been pinned by a couple of heavy pieces. He wheezes and his eye flies open again when Gabe lifts one off his chest. 

“Ow,” McCree says, his tone bordering on petulant. Gabe could almost laugh. 

“Don’t move.”

“Can’t.”

“Well don’t try, either.”

Gabe manages to clear enough of the rubble to get a better look at McCree. He’ll need help getting him out of there, but there’s no other obvious injuries - if anything, it’s internal, which is not exactly comforting. Gabe pats his pockets and finds an emergency biotic field. He cracks it open, positioning it close against McCree’s side. McCree’s breathing comes a little easier after a few moments. 

“Wiggle your fingers?” Gabe asks. McCree’s uninjured eye squints at Gabe. “I’m serious.”

Wincing, McCree wiggles his fingers on both hands, even though the movement from his broken arm is jerky at best. 

“Toes?”

“Boots.”

“Humor me.”

Gabe watches the toes of McCree’s boots wiggle back and forth. He allows himself a modicum of relief. 

“The others will be here in a minute. Then we’ll get you back to base.”

McCree doesn’t say anything, turning his face away from Gabe as best as he can. Gabe keeps an eye on him just in case. 

It’s only a couple of minutes later that the rest of the squad shows up. They let Valdez in first before the rest of them crowd into the small space, ready to help. Valdez crouches next to McCree, running a small, handheld scanner over his body. 

“Spine’s intact,” she says, looking up at Gabe. “We should still be careful.”

It takes a lot of maneuvering, but they do it: Edwards, Shiga and Gabe lift McCree from the hollow in the rubble, Valdez and Prithi spotting them out of small room. They pause to readjust once they get to more stable ground. Gabe slips an arm under McCree’s, taking most of his weight, while Shiga takes the other side. 

Together, the Blackwatch strike team gets McCree the hell out of there. 

In the shuttle, under better light, Valdez conducts a more thorough triage of McCree’s condition as Tack takes off. Gabe radios back to base to let medical know they’re coming before he moves to the back of the shuttle to hover over Valdez’s shoulder, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. 

“Broken ribs, his arm’s shattered, probably a concussion too, at least,” Valdez says, looking up. McCree makes a face and shifts a little but Valdez presses a hand firmly to his sternum. “I can’t say for sure about any internal injuries.”

“‘M fine,” McCree mumbles, trying to move out from under her hand. He tries to lift his good arm to move the oxygen mask away from his face but Valdez lightly bats his hand away. She gives him a severe look. 

“You’re not,” Valdez says. Gabe shakes his head a little. 

“We’ll be back soon enough. If you -”

“Incoming!” Tack says suddenly. The shuttle jolts then veers violently off course. Valdez stumbles backwards and McCree starts to slide off the bench. Gabe catches McCree before he goes too far. 

“Newton!” Gabe barks. “What the hell is going on?”

“Evasive maneuvers, sir,” Tack says. The shuttle tilts and dips then Gabe feels the engines rev under his feet. “Hold on!”

Gabe braces himself, keeping his arms wrapped around McCree as Tack does his best to prove why Gabe wanted him for Blackwatch in the first place. He can hear the crackle of gunfire outside of the shuttle, pinging against the reinforced hull. It reminds him of some of his early days during the Crisis. He pushes that thought out of his mind and instead looks down at McCree. His cheek is pressed against Gabe’s chest and Gabe can see his chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths, the fingers of his good hand digging into the fabric of Gabe’s tac vest. Gabe tightens his arm around him, protective. The shuttle tips downwards, losing an alarming amount of altitude before Tack pulls the shuttle back up. 

“Newton,” Gabe says warningly. 

“It’s fine - it’s fine,” Tack says. He reaches across the flight console to hit a few more buttons. “We’re out of range.”

“What was that?” Prithi asks, picking herself up off the floor. Edwards is typing rapidly on his tablet. 

“I don’t know,” Tack says. “I saw weapons so I hit the gas.”

“Tracking the signal now,” Edwards says. 

“Figure this out. How long until we’re back to the base?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Tack says. “Had to change course.”

“Fine, just keep them off our tail,” Gabe says. 

“Yes sir.”

Gabe looks down at McCree, suddenly aware that he’s still holding him against his chest. He eases his grip and gets McCree back up into a seat. McCree’s good hand is still clenched around the edge of Gabe’s tac vest. Instead of prying his fingers away, Gabe takes the seat next to him. McCree doesn’t move, doesn’t uncurl his fingers, and Gabe tries not to think about it. 

Back at the base, Gabe puts Edwards and Prithi on the case of the mystery attackers before he helps Valdez get McCree to the infirmary. Angela and her team take over, leaving Gabe to file the mission reports. Between the paperwork and tracking the mystery attackers, Gabe isn’t able to get back to the infirmary to check on McCree until late that night. 

He finds himself dragging his feet as he makes his way down the hall. It’s not that he doesn’t want to check on McCree - he does, very much so - but, as Gabe was filling in the mission report, the guilt started to well up and settle uncomfortably in Gabe’s chest. It’s Gabe’s fault that McCree was sent in alone, with no backup. If someone else had been there with him, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten so hurt. He had sent him in alone because he was confident in McCree’s abilities, but Gabe should’ve been smarter. He should’ve… He should’ve… 

The infirmary is darkened for the night by the time Gabe steps inside. He checks on the other injured agents before he makes his way to McCree’s bed - most of the others had fairly superficial injuries and had already been dismissed, but McCree was being kept overnight, at least, according to the night nurse. His injuries were many: two bones broken in his left arm; a handful of ribs and some of the bones in his feet; a concussion; a fracture along his cheekbone; a bad case of smoke inhalation; and, of course, heavy bruising all over. The biotic fields took care of most of the superficial injuries and the medical team cleaned McCree up well. Even still, in the pale light of the infirmary, McCree looks sallow, wrung out. His left arm is in a cast and his eyes are closed. Gabe pauses at the side of his bed, dragging his beanie off his head and rubbing his hand over his face. 

“Commander?” McCree’s voice asks, still raspy and quiet. Gabe blinks and settles his beanie back on his head. 

“You took a beating, McCree,” Gabe says, his tone coming out gentler than he means it to be. McCree makes a face. 

“Guess exploding buildings’ll do that,” he replies. Gabe shakes his head a little. 

“I’m glad we found you, anyway.”

McCree looks away. “Shouldn’t’ve.”

Gabe frowns. “You’re part of this team, McCree. We don’t leave people behind.”

McCree doesn’t say anything. Gabe lets his breath out slowly, not exactly a sigh - he’s had this conversation with McCree before. 

“You deserve to be here, McCree,” Gabe says, letting his voice drop low. “You’ve proven yourself again and again. You’ve earned your place here, as well as my respect.”

McCree’s body goes stiff then he slowly rolls his head back over to look at him, squinting at Gabe through his swollen eye. Gabe holds his gaze, steady, unblinking, earnest. 

“It would be a devastating blow if we lost you,” Gabe says. “To Overwatch, to Blackwatch, to me.”

Gabe can’t read McCree’s expression - aside from the occasional angry outbursts, Gabe has been largely unable to get a good read off of McCree. Now is no different. The tension does seem to go out of McCree’s body after another long moment. 

“I’m glad you found me,” McCree says. Gabe lets the corner of his mouth quirk up in a small smile. He pats the edge of the bed. 

“Get some rest, McCree. We need you out there.”

“Yes sir.”

Gabe leaves McCree to rest up for the night, relieved. McCree will be back on his feet. Gabe won’t have lost an agent, and they can keep doing what they do best. 

# 

#  3

The jungle is oppressively hot and sticky. Nobody on the strike team has spent much time in this kind of territory so they’re all a little bit off their game, which is how the ambush takes them by surprise. It’s a nasty, brutal fight, but the Blackwatch strike team manages to beat back their attackers and retreat to what passes for a safe house in these parts. It’s only a small group of them this time: Gabe, Edwards, Shiga and McCree, with Prithi and Valdez running the operation from afar, but the safe house still feels cramped in this heat. They manage to secure the door and radio in their status before McCree collapses. 

Gabe is at his side immediately. Under the dirt and grime from the jungle and the fight, McCree’s face is pale. He gives Gabe a sheepish, tired grin. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Got dizzy for a second there.”

Gabe helps McCree sit up better and then he spots the growing, dark stain on the inside of McCree’s thigh. 

“You’re injured,” Gabe says, frowning. McCree follows his gaze. 

“Huh,” McCree says. Gabe shakes his head, already pushing McCree to sit up against the wall. 

“Shiga, check for medical supplies. Edwards, how are we on water?” Gabe asks. He carefully turns McCree’s leg and finds the slash; it’s deep, exposing the meat of Jesse’s thigh, and bleeding heavily. Gabe pulls his belt out of the loops of his pants for a makeshift tourniquet. 

“Not a lot of water, boss. A couple bottles, maybe.”

“Medkit’s useless.”

“Valdez? Timing on extraction?” Gabe asks, pulling his belt tight around McCree’s thigh. McCree winces, his head falling back against the wall. 

“Shouldn’t we have a safeword or something?” he asks. Gabe looks up at McCree sharply. McCree isn’t looking at him, his eyes focusing on the ceiling before sliding closed. 

“McCree,” Gabe says sharply, because he has to be  _ McCree  _ here, in front of the others. This thing between them is too new, too  _ fragile _ to put it at risk when the rest of the strike team is right here. “Stay with me.”

McCree drops his chin and looks at Gabe. If he’s thinking along the same lines as Gabe, he doesn’t show it either way. “I’m alright, Commander. It’s just a scratch.”

“Holy shit,” Shiga says, coming over to peer over Gabe’s shoulder. “If that’s a scratch, Jesse, then I must be the queen of France or something.”

“Heh,” McCree says. Gabe glances around the safe house, but there’s not a lot to be had by way of materials. He needs something clean to staunch the bleeding. His eyes fall on the bandana around McCree’s neck - it’ll have to do. 

“There’s really nothing in that medkit?” Gabe asks, reaching up to take the bandana from McCree. His fingers brush the sweaty skin on McCree’s neck, fumbling for the knot before he pulls it free with a gentle tug. Shiga shakes his head - he’s looking a little green around the edges as he stares at the wound in McCree’s leg. He turns back to dig through the kit. 

“Nothing useful. No biotics, no gauze, no sterile pads. A syringe or two, a plastic thing that might be a bite stick? There’s needles with no sutures and some rubber tubing. Also some ice packs,” Shiga says. He picks up his head again. “There’s a hand saw in the corner, if we have to cut off his leg.”

“You’re hilarious, Fred, really,” McCree says. Gabe folds up the bandana and presses it firmly against his leg. He feels McCree flinch under his hands. 

“We could cauterize it,” Edwards suggests. Shiga goes green again. 

“That’s a horrible idea.”

“You just suggested we cut off his leg!”

“It was a  _ joke _ .”

“Let’s just take it easy,” Gabe says. He presses his free hand to his earpiece again. “Valdez? You there?”

“Sorry, Commander,” Valdez’s voice finally comes over the comms. Gabe allows himself a modicum of relief. “Extraction is a couple hours out at this point. We’re working on securing the airspace.”

Gabe does a really admirable job of not swearing. He presses more firmly against McCree’s leg. 

“The faster the better, Valdez.”

“Roger that. Sit tight, Commander. We’ll get you out of there.”

“Over and out,” Gabe says. He looks at McCree, but his eyes are closed and his head is tilted back again. Warm, sticky blood is starting to sleep through the bandana. 

Sit tight. There’s no need to panic, Gabe reminds himself. They’ve gotten themselves out of worse scrapes than this. 

Except too much time passes, and McCree is still losing blood. He’s bled through his bandana and is working on bleeding through Gabe’s, too. His face is looking paler and paler. He’s stopped trying to make jokes, too - he’s just sitting with his head tipped back against the wall of the safe house, his breathing labored. Evac is still too far away, no matter how much Gabe hounds Valdez for a faster response time. It’s not her fault. 

Gabe makes a decision. 

“Shiga, give me that kit,” Gabe says. Shiga picks up his head but doesn’t say anything as he passes Gabe the med kit. Both he and Edwards have been quiet since the last time Gabe checked in with Valdez. “Put pressure on his leg.”

Shiga hesitates. Gabe gives him a look. They switch places so Gabe can dig through the medkit. 

“Sorry, Jesse,” Gabe hears Shiga say over his shoulder. Gabe tries to block out Shiga’s soft words, wishing he was in a position to be the one giving them to McCree. But - until either of them land on where exactly they want to be - they have to be careful around the others. Gabe isn’t about to push McCree into anything he doesn’t want to do, and McCree deserves to take the time to make a rational decision. Now is certainly not the time, and Gabe isn’t about to make McCree’s grave injury about his feelings or their relationship. 

The medkit is just as bare as Shiga had said. They’re really going to have to be better about making sure safe houses are up to standards - and maybe Gabe can scrape together a few more dollars to pad their medical supplies budget. He pulls a couple of things out of the kit and goes back to Shiga and McCree. 

“He’s bleeding through the bandana,” Shiga says. He’s looking at Gabe with wide eyes, even though his voice is mostly steady. McCree’s head lolls against the wall, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. 

“McCree,” Gabe says, sharper than he means to, his heart suddenly in his throat. McCree lifts his head with difficulty. He gives Gabe a small, dazed smile. 

“Not moving, Commander.”

“Good. Keep doing that,” Gabe says. He takes McCree’s arm and pushes his sleeve up to expose his forearm. Gabe’s done this in the field once before, during the Crisis, and in worse circumstances. So why are Gabe’s hands shaking?

Gabe forces himself to take a breath so he can steady his hands. He slides the needle into his own arm before he looks back at McCree’s arm. McCree’s veins are sunken in, hard to find. It’s going to make this difficult. Gabe feels along McCree’s arm before he slides the other end of his makeshift IV. It takes longer than Gabe thinks it should; he holds his breath until the IV tube fills with his own blood. 

“Sir?” Shiga asks, watching the blood flow through the rubber tube and into McCree’s arm. 

“Is that safe?” Edwards asks. 

“Check in with Valdez,” Gabe says. He gathers McCree carefully into his lap, trying not to jostle him too much. McCree’s gone still, eyes closed, though he turns his face into Gabe’s chest when he finally settles him across his lap. Gabe looks down at him, something twisting in his chest. He wants to say something reassuring, something tender and kind, but he’s too conscious of Shiga and Edwards’s eyes on them. Instead, he focuses on willing his blood into McCree’s veins and hoping the evac gets here in time. “Just hold on a little longer, McCree,” he says quietly. 

✚✚✚

Back at the base, Dr. Ziegler’s team whisks McCree away immediately. Angela assures Gabe that they’ll do everything they can - all the usual platitudes. Gabe hardly listens. He goes to clean up and change before he heads down to the infirmary to pace until someone gives him a status update. He’s feeling a little light headed himself, but he stubbornly keeps pacing. Sitting still isn’t an option. 

Angela finds him surprisingly quickly. She doesn’t have that soft, empathetic look she usually has when talking to patients - if Gabe had to pick a phrase to describe her expression, it would be “pissed off.” He can’t think of a time when he’s seen her like this. He’s not sure if he should be worried or not. 

“Commander Reyes?” she says crisply. “Will you step into my office?”

Gabe blinks but follows her without protest. She waits for him to take a seat in front of her desk before she closes the door behind him with a snap. She sinks into a seat across from Gabe and massages her temples with the tips of her fingers. 

“How is -”

“Jesse’s fine,” Angela interrupts, an edge to her voice. “He’s great, even. Your field transfusion saved his life.”

“That’s good news,” Gabe says, nodding. He keeps his expression calm even though the relief that washes through him is like a shot of adrenaline. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, though; there’s something more that she’s not telling him. Angela drops her hands to the desk and looks at Gabe directly in the eye. 

“Did Dr. O’Deorain put you up to this?”

Gabe blinks. Of all the things Angela might have said, Gabe didn’t expect that. “Put me up to what?”

Angela scans Gabe’s face, skepticism clear in her face. He knows that she and Moira don’t exactly get along, but this is the first he’s hearing of a clear example of their differences of opinion. 

“Field transfusions are extremely risky. With untreated blood - not to mention your enhancements - any number of things could have gone wrong,” Angela says. Gabe feels the initial relief chill in his chest. 

“But it didn’t,” Gabe says, uncertainly. It comes out as more of a question, the worry bleeding into his voice. Angela’s stare is steely as she scans Gabe’s face, but she relents. She sits back in her seat. 

“No, it didn’t,” Angela concedes. “Jesse’s fine. I want to keep him the night for observation, but…”

Gabe nods. “Of course. Anything - whatever you need to do,” he says, then pauses. Worry twists in his gut again. “The SEP…?”

Angela heaves a sigh. “Dr. O’Deorain really didn’t have anything to do with this?”

“He was bleeding out, Angela. What choice did I have?”

Angela purses her lips. She pulls her keyboard towards her and turns the monitor on her desk so Gabe can see. 

“We don’t know what your enhancements will do to Jesse’s system,” she says, gesturing at some medical charts on the screen that Gabe can’t begin to make heads or tails of - it looks similar to some of his own charts, though McCree’s name and ID number are stamped in the corner. 

“It won’t hurt him, will it?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Angela says, clearly still peeved. Gabe digs his fingers into the tops of his thighs. She must notice his anxiety and takes pity on him. “It sped up his healing, at the very least. We’ll have to run more tests to understand the extent of the transferred effects.”

Gabe keeps his eyes on the jargon on screen, even as the worry proliferates in the back of his mind. He meant to save Jesse - and he’s  _ Jesse _ , again, not McCree, all the carefully constructed walls melting away in the face of Gabe’s worry. He meant to save Jesse, not burden him with SEP bullshit. He’s suffered with the enhancements in his blood for years, the extent of which only Angela, and - these days - Dr. O’Deorain, is party to. Jesse knows some of the ways SEP has affected Gabe: the high metabolism, the increased adrenal production, enhanced strength and healing capabilities, the shorter refractory period. But Gabe didn’t share the other aspects of it - the chronic pain, the endless hunger, the headaches, the nightmares. He figured Jesse would find out in due time, if they were going to keep doing this new thing that they were testing out. But that was a long time from now, Gabe thought. He didn’t think that saving Jesse’s life would’ve caused more suffering. And, on top of that, the suggestion that Dr. O’Deorain had been involved - if Angela had said anything to Jesse, Gabe knows it wouldn’t have been well-received. Jesse has a deep seated suspicion towards Dr. O’Deorain. He won’t let her touch him. Gabe, used to the poking and prodding and experimenting, is more than willing to take on the test subject duties, and wouldn’t ask that of Jesse anyway. But if Jesse thinks Dr. O’Deorain was involved in his decision to give him his blood… 

“Gabriel?” Angela asks, like it’s not the first time she’s said it. Gabe shakes his head and comes back to himself. 

“Sorry. Can I go see him?”

“I suppose. He’s awake,” Angela says. She stands up. “I’ll come with you.”

Gabe follows Angela to the recovery room where, sure enough, Jesse is sitting up in bed, wide-awake and cleaned up. It’s a startling difference from his condition in the jungle. He breaks out into a smile when he sees Gabe. 

“Hey,” Jesse says. “You came.”

“Well, I heard you were awake,” Gabe says, coming over to stand at the edge of the bed. He clasps his hands behind his back, even though he’s itching to check Jesse over himself, for his own peace of mind. Angela moves around the other side of the bed to check Jesse’s monitors. Gabe can feel her eyes on him, watching, listening.  

“I feel fine,” Jesse says, tilting his head back to smile up at Gabe. “Great, even.”

“I guess having enough blood will do that to you.”

Jesse reaches out, then stops, eyes sliding to Angela. He lets his hand fall on the edge of the bed, his fingers curling into the thin sheets. Gabe’s own fingers twitch behind his back, wanting to take his hand, wanting to feel his heartbeat - strong and steady - under his fingertips. 

“Thank you,” Jesse says, expression going more serious. “Seriously - you saved my life.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Gabe says gruffly. He keeps his eyes on Jesse’s fingers twisting in the sheets, but doesn’t reach out to take his hand - he’s still painfully aware of Angela’s watchful eyes. She must suspect something - she’s not an idiot - but there’s a distinct lack of paperwork on file for any relationship between them. Gabe knows he’s already on thin ice with her, no reason to test how much further he can go. He keeps his hands to himself. 

“And hopefully not the last, either, huh?”

“Preferably, you wouldn’t be in the position to need it, but -”

“Jesse, how are you feeling?” Angela asks. Jesse pulls his hand away from the edge of the bed and turns his attention to her. Gabe can’t really resent the interruption - he wants to hear the answer to her question, too. 

“Good - great even,” Jesse says. “Whatever you gave me this time around is the good stuff, for sure.”

Angela purses her lips, leaning forward to shine a light in Jesse’s eyes. He blinks but holds still for her poking and prodding.  

“Something I oughta be worried about, doc?”

“Nothing at the moment,” Angela says. She sighs, tucking the penlight into the breast pocket of her labcoat. “Commander Reyes is a universal donor, of course, but his blood has a fair amount of chemical alterations thanks to his time in the soldier enhancement program. The enhancements in his system sped up your healing, but we can’t say for sure how else it might affect you as time goes on.”

Gabe keeps his eyes on Jesse’s face, trying to gauge his reaction; he doesn’t look bothered by what Angela’s saying, at the very least. It surprises Gabe - he thought Jesse would have a stronger reaction. 

“So there might be something to be worried about later,” Jesse says. Angela spreads her hands. 

“We have to keep an eye on it. I’d still like to keep you overnight, and have more regular check ins so we can make sure that nothing is amiss,” Angela says. A pinch appears between Jesse’s brows. 

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that, doc,” he says. There it is. 

“Angela’s the expert on this sort of thing,” Gabe puts in quickly, hoping to reassure him. If he knows Angela is the one on the case, maybe it won’t raise Jesse’s hackles any further. “She’s handled all of my and Jack’s SEP bullshit. Nobody’s better equipped to handle this.”

Jesse looks up at Gabe then back at Angela. Finally, he nods, though the pinch between his eyebrows has only mostly faded. “Alright. Well.”

“Just get some rest tonight. I’ll check on you first thing in the morning,” Angela says. “You had a very severe gash in your leg, and I’d hate to have to sew it shut again.”

“No moving. Got it.”

“Is it alright if I stay for a little longer, doctor?” Gabe asks. He’s testing his limits, he knows it, but he hopes he still has enough good will with Angela in spite of this whole situation. Angela looks between the two of them, then nods. 

“Try not to keep him up too late, Gabriel. I really do mean it when I need Jesse to rest.”

“Of course.”

Angela gives Gabe a final, lingering look before she leaves the two of them alone. Gabe makes a mental note to make it up to her, somehow; he knows the addition of Moira to the science team hasn’t been particularly smooth, and that there’s tension between the two doctors. But he pushes that thought aside. As soon as she’s out of sight, Gabe reaches for Jesse’s hand. It’s warm and dry - Jesse squeezes Gabe’s fingers and his grip feels strong, steady, grounding. Gabe lets out a breath. Jesse’s going to be okay, and Gabe is starting to believe it. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Gabe says, keeping his voice low to prevent too much emotion from seeping into his words. Jesse squeezes his hand again. 

“Thanks, Gabe,” he says. “Really.”

“Even though I dosed you with my SEP bullshit?” Gabe asks. He says it like a joke to cover up his anxiety about this whole situation. He knows how Jesse feels about Moira and her experimentations - this rings a little too close to home. But Gabe would’ve bled himself dry to save Jesse, if that’s what it would take. Jesse tugs on his hand a little.

“Hey,” he says. “You saved my life, remember?”

“Could’ve tried something else,” Gabe says. “It could’ve been Shiga, maybe, or even Edwards - I wasn’t thinking.”

“Shiga’s afraid of needles and Edwards, well. No offense to him, but I think I’d rather bleed out,” Jesse says, mock serious. Gabe ducks his head to hide his smile. Jesse reaches up with his other hand to tip Gabe’s chin back up. He looks Gabe in the eye, his expression going more tender, almost a little shy. “Look, you saved my life. And even better: I get to have a little bit of you with me all the time.”

Gabe blinks at that, taken aback. “You… you want that?” he asks. Jesse flattens his palm against Gabe’s cheek. Gabe leans into the touch automatically, even though he’s trying not to be too hopeful. 

“I do,” Jesse says. His voice is steady, his tone sincere. “Hell, if I wasn’t already head over heels for you before all this, it’d be hard not to be now.”

“That’s just the blood talking,” Gabe objects. Jesse makes a face at him, but he’s smiling. 

“I ain’t mad about it,” Jesse says. “I kinda like it. I really like it.”

Gabe scans Jesse’s face. His expression is open and honest and warm. No bullshit. Gabe feels his heart swell. He didn’t ever expect to get so lucky - and yet, here he is. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” Gabe says. Jesse’s smile widens. 

“It’s about time.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to kiss you in front of the doctor,” Gabe says, leaning down. Jesse slips his hand from Gabe’s cheek down to the collar of his shirt, dragging him in closer. 

“Ain’t nothing she hasn’t seen before.”

“But us -”

Jesse pauses. Gabe can feel his fingers flex in the fabric of his shirt. “Second guessing this? I don’t think I can give you your blood back.”

Gabe pulls away enough to look Jesse in the eye. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You want me to give you some of mine? Make it a real blood pact?”

“Jesse,” Gabe says, shaking his head. Jesse tugs him down again. 

“What? Is it so hard to believe I want this - want you?”

Gabe swallows around the lump in his throat. It  _ is _ hard to believe - maybe he’ll never fully believe it. He’s been so careful not to get his hopes up, to protect himself, to protect Jesse, too. But Jesse is looking at him with such earnest intensity that it’s almost impossible to say no to him. Not that Gabe wants to, but...

“You want to do this? For real? Be… together?” Gabe asks, stumbling over the words a little bit. It sounds ridiculous coming out of his mouth - he’s a grown man and the commander of an international covert ops organization. He should be better than this. But he’s not, and his nerves are getting the better of him. Jesse nods without hesitation. 

“Yeah, I do, Gabe. Ask me again tomorrow and the answer’s gonna be the same,” he says. “I wanna be with you.”

“Really?”

Jesse laughs. He reaches up with both hands this time and pulls him down, surprisingly strong. He presses his mouth against Gabe’s. Gabe can feel the surety behind it and finally, finally, he lets himself feel it too. He kisses Jesse back with building intensity until the monitors start beeping a little more urgently than they should. Gabe drags his mouth away from Jesse’s reluctantly. 

“Probably don’t want the doctor coming back right now,” Gabe says. Jesse grins at him, lips swollen and spit-shiny. The color is high on his cheeks; he looks vibrant, happy,  _ alive _ . Gabe wants to kiss him again. 

“Probably not,” Jesse says. “Maybe we could disconnect the monitors.”

“That’s a bad idea. At least until…”

“You really think the SEP stuff is gonna do something funny to me?” Jesse asks, his voice going more serious. Gabe lifts one shoulder in a shrug. 

“I don’t know,” he says. He meets Jesse’s eyes as Jesse scans his face. “I worry, though.”

“Well cut it out. I feel good, Gabe. Really.”

Gabe lets his breath out. “Alright.”

“Good. Now get down here and kiss me again.”

“I thought you were supposed to be resting.”

“I’ll rest better with another kiss,” Jesse says, straight faced. Gabe laughs but indulges him. He slips a hand over Jesse’s chest to rest over his heart as he kisses him, soft and sweet. Jesse’s skin is warm under the thin hospital gown. It’s probably just the sound of the monitor playing tricks on his mind, but Gabe can imagine he feels Jesse’s heartbeat under his palm. 

“You think we match now?” Jesse murmurs against Gabe’s lips. Gabe pulls away just enough to look at Jesse. 

“What do you mean?”

Jesse reaches up and flattens his palm over the same spot on Gabe’s chest. 

“Our heartbeats.”

Gabe feels his breath catch in his throat. He swallows around the lump, a small, tender smile on his lips. It’s almost too much, too intimate, but Gabe isn’t about to back down now. If they’re going to do this, he’s going to do it right. He’s all in. 

“I’m not sure blood works like that,” he says, teasingly. Jesse smiles wider. 

“But what if it did?” he counters. Gabe leans down to kiss him again, if only to hide the emotion that’s bubbling just under the surface. 

“It would mean I’d be able to feel you all the time.”

“Is that so bad?”

“No, I don’t think it is at all,” Gabe says. He feels Jesse’s finger curl into the fabric of his shirt above his heart and then Jesse is surging up to meet him, to kiss him hard and full of feeling. Maybe it’s the adrenaline left over from the mission, or maybe it’s the SEP running through their veins, but something  _ has _ shifted between them. Gabe cherishes it, his world nicely narrowed to the feeling of Jesse’s lips on his and the steady beat of his heart under his hand, matching the rhythm of his own. He lets himself feel it. 

# 

#  4

Gabe slumps back in his seat in the command center at the Swiss headquarters. The fly cams have mostly cut out but the extraction is already underway. It was a bad mission - they shouldn’t have attempted it - but at least,  _ at least _ , they only lost some supplies and a transport vehicle. No people. They’re all coming back safe and it’s because Gabe acted fast. 

He should’ve been there. 

But he wasn’t. Gabe was needed on the base but they went ahead with the mission anyway. Jesse was more than capable of leading the mission on his own and, further to the point, they didn’t really have much of a choice. Resources were stretched thin. They had to make do. 

Still, Gabe thinks, he should’ve been there. 

Gabe leans his elbows on the console, pressing his palms against his eyes, but even with his eyes closed he still sees the projectiles whizzing towards Jesse and his squad. He remembers the way his heart leapt into his throat and how he had jammed the button on the comms so hard the button is still stuck, transmitting static now. He remembers how it felt like time slowed down as he watched Jesse react. Fly cam 12 caught the flash of panic in Jesse’s eyes before he dove to the ground, dragging his squad mates with him. Fly cam 4 showed Jesse and his squad scrambling for cover. Fly cam 27 focused on Jesse’s face as he raised his gun, his left eye glowing red before his finger pulled the trigger. Fly cam 16 gave Gabe a better angle on the explosion before the force of it fried all the cameras in the vicinity. 

Gabe felt his heart stop in his chest in that moment of panic before Jesse’s voice came over the comms to assure him they were safe. 

Now they’re on the way back to the base. Gabe reminds himself that they are all fine - no injuries. He knows how Jesse can be about seeing the doctors, though. He won’t feel better until he gets his hands on Jesse himself. 

Gabe is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the door to the command center slide open. Warm hands slip over his shoulders and the sharp, lingering smell of explosives fills his nose.

“Missed me?” a familiar, honey-sweet voice drawls in his ear. Dry, chapped lips ghost over his neck, the familiar scratch of facial hair sending a shiver down Gabe’s spine. Gabe closes his eyes briefly before he lifts his head. 

Jesse smiles down at him, eyes bright, still in his tac gear and looking a mess - covered in ash and dirt and blood. He catches Gabe’s eyes lingering on the smear of red across his chest. 

“It’s not mine,” he assures Gabe and then leans down to press a bone-melting kiss to Gabe’s mouth. Gabe doesn’t put up a fight - he’s too relieved and Jesse’s warm bulk is a comfort to have so close. 

Jesse kisses him hard, needily, his fingers plucking at Gabe’s sweatshirt like he could undress him right here. He must still be running high on adrenaline - it’s been a noticeable theme that Jesse’s adrenaline high lingers after missions these days. Side effects of the dose of SEP enhancements running through his veins now, Angela had assured them. Nothing to worry about. Gabe doesn’t have it in him to try to stop him and bring him back down to earth this time either. He tips his head back and lets Jesse kiss over his jaw and throat, lets his fingers get under the fabric around the neck of his hoodie. To Gabe’s surprise, Jesse straddles his legs, settling heavy into his lap. He loops his arms around Gabe’s shoulders and kisses him heatedly. 

“Mm - Jesse -” Gabe says against Jesse’s mouth. He tries to lean back but Jesse just crowds in closer, his hands pushing up the hem of Gabe’s sweatshirt. 

“What?” Jesse asks, unwilling to drag his mouth away from Gabe’s further than he absolutely has to. He’s speaking right up against Gabe’s mouth, his tongue and teeth still grazing Gabe’s lips as he does so. “Y’saved me. Again.”

“Jesse,” Gabe says again, with a tiny shake of his head. His hands have somehow found their way onto Jesse’s hips, which he now squeezes, remembering that flash of panic in Jesse’s eyes on the fly cams. 

“Uh huh,” Jesse says, pressing in again, his tongue sweeping into Gabe’s mouth. This time Gabe surrenders to it entirely. He’s just happy to have Jesse here, close,  _ alive _ . He pulls Jesse closer and Jesse goes happily, still trying to get at Gabe’s skin under his sweatshirt. When Jesse’s calloused hands find bare skin, Gabe shivers, exhaling in a little  _ ah _ into Jesse’s mouth. Before he knows it, Jesse’s fingers are deftly unbuttoning and unzipping Gabe’s pants. 

“What are you -”

“Almost died today. Wanna feel you.”

“Anyone could -”

“Lock the door then.”

“Jesse,” Gabe says and Jesse finally stops. He sits back in Gabe’s lap, leaning away enough to look Gabe in the eye. There’s something there - something a little desperate, a little needy in a way that’s not purely lust; Gabe knows that look, is sure he knows the feeling himself, and would have a hell of a time explaining it to anyone who hasn’t been in a situation like Jesse just was. He can’t begrudge Jesse the urge to make himself feel better, if that’s what you could call it. 

“Let's go back to my quarters instead?” Gabe suggests gently. “Have a shower, clean up?”

Jesse’s fingers flex in the fly of Gabe’s pants. “I came here prepared.”

Gabe gives Jesse a long look. Finally, he reaches around him and hits a couple buttons on the console in front of him. The door locks behind them with a click. 

Jesse wastes no time once he hears the door lock. His hands push open Gabe’s pants and finds his dick. Gabe closes his eyes. He wants this -  _ needs _ this almost as much as Jesse does; to feel him close and  _ alive _ . He knows how important it is after a mission like that, when his heart is still thumping in his chest and the taste of his own mortality still lingers on the back of his tongue. So he tips his head back and lets Jesse pull his dick out of his pants, already half-hard, already twitching eagerly under Jesse’s familiar hands. Jesse strokes him down roughly, the angle just slightly wrong, his grip a little too tight, but the edge of pain makes it so much sweeter. 

Jesse’s mouth is on Gabe’s again, hot and needy. Gabe kisses back as much as he can but it quickly devolves into a sliding of tongues before Jesse slips out of Gabe’s lap and onto his knees in front of him. He moves so fast that Gabe doesn’t have the chance to catch his breath before Jesse sucks him down. His mouth is so wet and warm, with an edge of teeth grazing against sensitive skin. Gabe’s toes curl in his boots. He twists a hand into Jesse’s hair, which is feels gritty between his fingers with a combination of sweat and ash. He doesn’t care, just holds him close, focused on the sloppy, enthusiastic sounds Jesse makes around his cock. 

Gabe opens his eyes when Jesse pulls away, the loss of heat around his dick sudden and unexpected. He watches, mouth hanging slightly open, as Jesse pulls a packet of lube out of his pocket before he unbuckles his pants. Jesse catches Gabe’s eye. 

“Told you I came prepared,” Jesse says, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a mischievous smirk. He pauses to tear open the packet with his teeth and drizzles its contents over the tip of Gabe’s cock. Jesse smears it down the length of him with one hand, the other hand fumbling to push his own pants down. 

_ Oh _ . 

Gabe groans. Jesse is never not full of surprises, and most of them good. He watches, half-disbelieving, as Jesse smears the rest of the lube haphazardly between his cheeks. Jesse turns and eases himself down onto Gabe’s dick. Gabe holds his cock steady with one hand as Jesse’s head falls back onto Gabe’s shoulder. It’s not nearly enough lube or prep, but Jesse is determined to make it work. He twists his hips and presses down until his ass is in Gabe’s lap, his back pressed to Gabe’s chest, face turned into Gabe’s neck. Gabe can feel the damp pants of breath against his skin. He slides his hands up to grip Jesse’s hips. His fingers dig into his half-covered flesh, wanting to fuck up into that tight, tight heat that surrounds him, but also knowing that he has to be the one to keep his wits about him. 

“Okay?” Gabe asks, his voice coming out rough. Jesse nods jerkily. 

“Yeah - fuck,” Jesse says. He pushes himself up and then slips back down with a little whine. “Oh, fuck.  _ Fuck _ , Gabe.”

Gabe lets Jesse dictate the speed, using his hands to help guide his hips back down into his lap. Jesse’s head is tipped back against Gabe’s shoulder, his eyes screwed shut, his mouth open and panting. He rolls his hips down into Gabe’s lap, hands braced on the arms of the chair on either side, taking his dick in deep. 

“Fuck me, Gabe, c’mon -” Jesse breathes, his voice coming out with a whine again. He lifts his head from Gabe’s shoulder and grinds down into Gabe’s lap with purpose. “Fuck me, c’mon, do it hard, wanna - need to feel -”

Gabe obliges. He shifts in the seat to get better leverage. Jesse lets him move him, one hand coming up to fumble with the front of his pants, trying to free his dick. Gabe bats his hand away and does it himself. He thrusts up into Jesse hard, stroking him down at the same time, dropping his head to mouth at Jesse’s neck. He thrusts up again, and again, and again. Jesse moans. He’s gone loose in Gabe’s arms, clenching hotly around Gabe’s dick with each thrust, but otherwise slumped back against Gabe’s chest, taking the fucking. 

“Yeah, Gabe, please, don’t stop - gotta -  _ fuck _ , don’t stop,” Jesse babbles. Gabe sucks a mark into his neck, eyes on the tip of Jesse’s cock poking through his fist. The graze of his teeth on Jesse’s neck makes a drop of precome bead on the tip. Gabe smears it over the head with his thumb.

“I got you,” Gabe murmurs, lips close to Jesse’s ear. He snaps his hips up, again and again, his fist mirroring his movements. “I got you. I got you Jesse.”

Jesse cries out. He comes over Gabe’s fist in hot pulses, his hips jerking in Gabe’s lap. Gabe strokes him through it, his thrusts slowing. 

“Don’t - don’t stop, Gabe,” Jesse whimpers. He lifts himself up on Gabe’s dick, thighs trembling. “Please don’t stop.”

Gabe lets go of Jesse’s softening dick. He plants his feet and grips Jesse’s hips, the come mixing with the blood and ash on his clothes. It doesn’t matter - it’ll all get washed away. Gabe fucks up into Jesse hard and fast, chasing his own orgasm as Jesse whimpers above him. He buries his face in the crook of Jesse’s neck, tasting salty skin, the ash and smoke mingling with stale and fresh sweat. He sucks another mark into Jesse’s throat, just because he can, the heat pooling at the base of his spine. Jesse chants his name like a prayer, his voice coming out rough, used, instead of high and needy like before. Gabe pulls him down hard, his dick buried deep inside him when he finally comes with a grunt, lips pressed to Jesse’s neck. 

They stay like that, panting heavily, for several moments. The control room feels strangely quiet, their breaths too loud. Gabe wonders, vaguely, if anyone heard them. 

“Come on,” Gabe says finally, quietly. He presses a soft, sweet kiss over a bruise that’s already blossoming on Jesse’s neck. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

Jesse nods but doesn’t say anything. He slips off of Gabe’s lap, his knees knocking together as he pulls his pants back up. Gabe tucks himself away before he stands up too. Jesse meets his eyes briefly - there’s still a trace of that look there, but more tired now. Gabe touches the small of his back. 

“My room?”

Jesse nods again. Gabe lets him step ahead of him into the hallway. The base is - thankfully - quiet; it’s late enough that nobody is around to see them limp back to Gabe’s quarters. Jesse leans against the doorframe while Gabe keys in his code, his shoulders sagging, his body radiating exhaustion. He steps inside as soon as the door slides open but barely waits for it to close before he starts stripping off his tac gear. Gabe doesn’t say anything, just moves past him to get the shower running. 

A moment later, Jesse appears in the doorway of the bathroom, standing in his underwear. Gabe looks up. 

“Okay?” Gabe asks. Jesse lets his breath out and nods. 

“Yeah. Join me?”

They crowd into the shower together, the water hot and filling the small bathroom with steam. All the fight has gone out of Jesse - he leans against the shower wall with one shoulder, letting the water fall on his head. The water runs dark and grimy as the ash and god knows what else washes out of Jesse’s hair. Gabe reaches for the shampoo and lathers Jesse’s hair slowly, gently, thoroughly. He tips Jesse’s head back to rinse the soap away, careful of his eyes. 

Finally, when the water runs clear and their fingers are starting to prune, Jesse turns around in Gabe’s arms and kisses him, softly, but no less full of emotion. 

“Thanks,” he says against Gabe’s mouth. The way he says it makes it sound like he’s thanking Gabe for more than just the shower. 

“Any time,” Gabe nods. He pushes a wet lock of hair off of Jesse’s forehead. “Bed?”

“That sounds amazing,” Jesse says. He sounds more like his usual self. Gabe gives him a small smile and reaches around him to turn off the shower. They towel off before they collapse, naked, into bed . Jesse crowds in close, all warm and clean skin, his legs tangling with Gabe’s. They lie there in silence for a long time. 

“I’m gonna have marks,” Jesse says, his breath ghosting over Gabe’s skin. Gabe grimaces. 

“Got carried away,” Gabe says. “Sorry.”

Jesse props himself up on his elbow to look Gabe in the eye. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Gabe makes a face. Jesse leans in and kisses him, his fingers coming up to smooth the lines of his forehead. Gabe relaxes into it. 

Their job is hard, there’s no question. There’s so many days where they don’t know what’s waiting around the corner - where they don’t know if they’ll even come back at the end of the day. It used to be lonely for Gabe - incredibly lonely. But now, with Jesse, he’s constantly reminded that there’s someone to come back to. Someone who’s worth the fight. Someone who will be happy,  _ relieved _ to see him. Someone who will wait for him. 

“I love you,” Gabe says against Jesse’s mouth. He feels Jesse go stiff against him. Gabe pulls away - he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, even though he’s thought it for far, far too long, but… 

Jesse’s eyes, wide and wondering, search Gabe’s face. “What did you…?”

Gabe takes Jesse’s face in both of his hands, meeting his eyes even though his heart thumps in his chest. 

“I love you,” Gabe says again, a little louder, unmistakable. A series of emotions pass over Jesse’s face and then he’s kissing Gabe again.

“I love you too,” Jesse says between kisses. “God, Gabe, I love you too.”

Gabe wraps Jesse up in his arms and kisses him deeply. His heart soars. Everything is worth it - all the pain, the suffering, the anxiety - it’s all worth it because he loves Jesse McCree and he loves him back. 

#  5

Gabe could kick himself. Ana wasn’t supposed to find out about this operation - let alone  _ Jack _ . It wasn’t even supposed to be an operation. But Gabe is tired of sitting on the sidelines while people die. Blackwatch can help. Blackwatch  _ does _ help - maybe it doesn’t look pretty, maybe it doesn’t play by everyone’s rules, but the work that Blackwatch does is essential to keeping the world a safe place. 

It’s why Gabe agreed to send Jesse to London. They both know they can do more good out there than sitting around in the Swiss base with their thumbs up their asses. 

They can do good things. 

Which is why Jesse is in London, alone, under the radar. Well - mostly under the radar. Gabe didn’t expect Ana or Jack to come barging into the control center. He knows they’re as frustrated as he is by the British government’s unwillingness to accept Overwatch’s help, but they’re too enamored of propriety and the rules to do anything about it. 

Gabe plays it off as best as he can, keeping one eye on the fly cams on the screens while he dodges the questions from Overwatch’s first and second in command. Ana is pissed. Worried about Jesse, too, probably, which only compounds her anger. Jack is less pissed off than Gabe thought he would be - which is really a testament to how bad the situation in London is. 

And it  _ is _ bad: Jesse reports in as calm as ever, but Gabe sees what’s actually happening on the fly cams. And then Jesse says that things are getting  _ dicey _ and Gabe’s heart stops. They don’t have a lot of code words - they don’t usually need them, since they’re almost always together, working side by side - but this one sticks out. 

And then the fly cams cut out. Static. 

Jesse needs help. 

Gabe extracts himself from the command center as soon as he possibly can. Maybe he was a little too flippant with Ana and Jack, but - then again - it’s nothing they haven’t heard before, and it’s nothing Gabe doesn’t mean. If Jack’s so hell bent on playing by the rules, he has to figure out for himself what he’s willing to do about it. 

Gabe walks purposefully to his office. He forces himself to take measured steps even though he wants to run to a shuttle immediately. He has to play it cool. Nobody stops him as he strides down the halls - most of the regular Overwatch agents avoid Blackwatch agents as an unspoken rule, and Gabe hasn’t ever been considered  _ approachable _ . It hurts him most days, in a way, but it’s exactly what he needs right now. He’s able to get to his office and close the door without incident. 

He allows himself one moment of panic. He closes his eyes and lets himself feel his heart beating in his throat, a frantic, staccato rhythm. He knows it’s just a stupid thing they tell each other - that, since Gabe gave Jesse enough of his own blood to save his life, they could feel each other in a deeply physical way, a shared heartbeat - but it’s times like these that Gabe can’t help but think there’s some truth to it, even though it’s wholly unscientific. 

Gabe reins himself in, focuses. It only takes him a few minutes to check on Jesse’s position, requisition a shuttle, and let Valdez know he’ll be offline for the next few hours. Valdez doesn’t say anything other than what’s necessary to acknowledge his directions; she’s as tense about the goings on in London as the rest of them. They’re not used to sitting on the sidelines like this. If she suspects anything, she’s smart enough not to say anything. 

“Let me know if there’s anything you need from me,” Valdez says. Gabe is grateful - once again - for his team. 

Not twenty minutes after speaking with Ana and Jack, Gabe is en route to London. 

The situation on the ground is bad - even worse than it looked on the fly cams. Gabe has a sudden flash back to the Crisis, when the outlook was more than bleak, when it looked like humanity would be overrun. He swallows it down, forces himself not to think about it: now is not the time. He has a job to do. He has to find Jesse. 

Gabe zeroes in on Jesse’s last known coordinates, but he’s not pinging any of the usual channels. It’s all static. He wonders if the Null Sector has intercepted their comm signals, or if Jesse just lost his earpiece in the chaos, or if the omnics are otherwise interfering with human communication channels. He remembers some of the tricks from the Crisis, and the confusion it caused among the human troops. He hopes it doesn’t come to that. 

King’s Row is a smoking mess. Gabe slips from shadow to shadow, keeping his eyes peeled. Null Sector has thoroughly ensconced themselves in the neighborhood; it’s heavily reinforced with turrets jammed into the buildings and patrolled by several classes of omnics. Once again, Gabe flashes back to the Crisis -  _ smoke and screams and gunfire and the sound of metal rending flesh and more screams and pain and chaos, too tired to keep going but having to keep moving and the  _ screams _ , they never stop _ -

Gabe presses himself against the wall of the alley, forces himself to take a deep breath. Now is not the time. He takes another deep breath and then something catches the corner of his eye. He turns to look at it and then his heart drops somewhere around his toes: Jesse’s stupid hat, overturned, abandoned. 

Blood splattered. 

It snaps Gabe back to the present. He has to get to Jesse. A patrolling omnic passes close by, but Gabe holds his breath and waits for it to pass. He steps out of the alley once it’s out of sight. 

He should never have sent Jesse out alone. It’s not what they do - Blackwatch always needs backup. Nobody is on their own, nobody gets left behind. Neither Gabe nor Jesse thought that the situation would be this bad, though; it was supposed to be recon and information gathering only. 

Gabe should’ve known better. 

A chorus of gunfire suddenly cuts through the air. It’s the familiar sound of omnic weapons, but there’s another sound underneath the pulses of energy - the sound of an actual gun, and then a yell. Gabe checks his corners before he makes a beeline in the direction of the shots. 

Around the back of a bombed out pub, a cluster of omnics advance on a figure hunched in an alcove near the subway entrance. There are already several omnics on the ground, their chassis sparking, inert, but it doesn’t seem to deter them. Gabe spots the toe of a familiar boot. As he gets closer, he sees something glow red - one of the omnics is holding something long and glowing. He recognizes it from the fly cams before they cut out; it's some kind of plasma sword, the likes of which he’s never seen in the hands of an omnic before. He draws his shotguns and fires into the omnics. 

The omnics turn on Gabe. Gabe moves automatically. He knows how to fight this fight. 

Omnics fall around him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jesse scramble to his feet. The shots from his revolver ring out between the low booms of Gabe’s shotgun. Finally, finally they’re side by side again, and it feels like the tide turns. More of the omnics fall and fewer replace them, the crowd of metal bodies around them finally thinning out. Gabe turns to face Jesse, just for a moment, to share a look of relief, when he sees the red glow of the plasma sword again. Gabe watches it connect with Jesse’s left arm. The smell of burning flesh fills Gabe’s nose. Jesse goes down. Gabe doesn’t think - he just shoots. He stands over Jesse’s body but doesn’t look down at him, wholly focused on driving the omnics back, pausing only to reload. 

Thankfully, the omnics stop coming before Gabe runs out of ammo. He doesn’t wait for the omnics to regroup and he doesn’t look too closely at Jesse before he stoops and slings Jesse over his shoulder. He makes a beeline for the bombed out pub, kicking in the back door and shouldering inside. He nudged the door closed behind them as he waits for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. There’s a set of stairs to his right and he goes for it, mindful of Jesse’s body as he goes. Jesse isn’t moving much, isn’t saying anything, and Gabe isn’t thinking about it - not yet. He finds a booth and eases Jesse down off his shoulder, careful not to jostle him too much. Jesse’s head lolls against the back of the booth. Gabe takes his face in both hands. 

“Jesse?” he asks, voice low and urgent. Jesse takes a moment to focus on him. 

“Gabe,” he says. His face twists up, but his voice is steady. “I can’t feel my arm.”

Finally, Gabe looks down. Jesse’s left arm ends abruptly at the elbow, a charred, bloody mess. Gabe’s stomach flips over. He swallows thickly. 

“Okay,” Gabe says, more calmly than he feels. “Okay. That’s okay. Don’t move - I’m going to check for medical supplies, alright?”

“Gabe,” Jesse says again, the tears in his eyes catching the dim light of the pub. Gabe can hear the note of panic rising in his voice. “I can’t feel my arm.”

“I know. Just relax, okay? I’m gonna take care of you. Just sit here. I’ll be right back.”

“Gabe -” Jesse says, his voice breaking. Gabe ducks down and kisses him quickly - a reassurance, for both of them. 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Gabe slips away before the look in Jesse’s eyes gives him further pause. He hurries back down the stairs into the bar. Most of the bottles are broken, but Gabe manages to find an intact bottle of gin and another of vodka. It’ll have to do. There’s a bin of clean rags that Gabe grabs too. He hurries back up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. He finds Jesse right where he left him, trembling in his seat. His right hand has found his left arm, his fingers digging into his bicep. 

“Gabe, my arm -”

“Yeah, I know Jesse,” Gabe says. He kneels in front of him, setting the bottles on the floor and the bin of rags on the seat next to Jesse. “Let me see it.”

“It’s - it had a sword,” Jesse says. He doesn’t make any movement to let go of his arm. He’s still trembling in his seat. Gabe gently pries his hand away. 

“I saw.”

And now he sees the mangled mess of Jesse’s arm too: the sword had been sharp enough to sever bone, but it didn’t do a clean job, crushing the bone and tearing rather than cutting through it. The heat of the plasma cauterized the worst of the bleeding, singing and blistering the flesh past the elbow, likely under Jesse’s grip too. 

“I’m going to clean this off, alright?” Gabe says. He uncaps the bottle of vodka. “It might sting.”

Jesse looks up at Gabe with wide, rounded eyes. Gabe has to look away and focus on the task at hand.  _ He’s alive _ , Gabe reminds himself. That’s the important part. Gabe grabs one of the rags from the bin and cradles the end of Jesse’s arm. The first dribble of vodka over the wound doesn’t register, but the second splash makes Jesse cry out. 

“My arm’s gone,” Jesse says. His voice wavers as he goes green around the edges. His eyes are focused on the mangled stump. “Gabe -”

“Jesse, look at me,” Gabe says. He drops the rag and slips his hand under Jesse’s chin. “Look at me.”

Jesse swallows hard, breathing in short, shallow pants through his nose. Gabe rubs his thumb over his jaw. He has to be calm for Jesse. 

“There, that’s better,” he says. “Keep breathing, alright? I’m just going to wrap this up and get us back to the base. We’ll get you to Angela.”

“Gabe -”

Jesse leans over and retches, emptying the contents of his stomach across the floorboards. Gabe grimaces. He helps Jesse sit back up, can’t help but notice the clammy touch of Jesse’s skin. He’s probably going into shock. 

“Easy - just relax. I’ve got you, Jesse. I’m right here.”

Gabe works as quickly as he can, cleaning off the charred end of Jesse’s arm with as much delicacy as he can manage. Jesse shakes harder but has gone very, very quiet, save for the rapid breathing that sometimes ends in a gasp. He’s not exactly hyperventilating - but he’s close. Gabe finally wraps a fresh rag around the end of Jesse’s arm, and then another one, just in case, tying the ends securely. 

“There,” Gabe says. “That’ll keep us until we get back to the base. Do you want some water? I can -”

Gabe is interrupted by the buzzing of his comm in his pocket. He pulls it out to check the ID, expecting Jack, ready to rip him a new one - but it’s Valdez’s name flashing on the screen. He answers immediately. She wouldn’t have called unless it was absolutely necessary. 

“Reyes.”

“Sir? They’re looking for you here.”

Gabe swears. He glances at Jesse, who’s staring at what’s left of his arm. “I’m not available.”

“I told them that. They said they need your help coordinating the response to the London incident.”

Gabe doesn’t say anything for a long, long moment. Resentment and anger boil over, combined with a healthy dose of  _ I-told-you-so _ \- why doesn’t Jack listen to him any more?

“Sir?”

Gabe shakes his head as if to clear it. Not the time. 

“Valdez, you can lead the strike team. Get Kepler and Prithi, and Edwards too. Patch me in remotely and I’ll -”

“Strike Commander Morrison is sending his own team.”

“What?”

“Prithi said she saw Lieutenant Wilhelm, Lindholm, Dr. Ziegler and the new cadet all boarding a shuttle.”

“Patch me through to Morrison.”

“Yes sir.”

Gabe looks at Jesse again. He’s slipping down in the booth, the shaking getting worse. Gabe moves up onto the seat and draws Jesse into his arms, pulling him in until his head rests against Gabe’s chest. He presses a kiss into his hair. He needs to get him back to the base. But if Angela is on route here… 

“Gabe, where the hell are you?” Jack’s voice comes through the comms. 

“I’m staying out of the way. What the hell are you doing? I thought we were avoiding international incidents.”

“We can’t sit on the sidelines here.”

Gabe squeezes Jesse a little, involuntarily. Jesse makes a small noise into Gabe’s chest. He loosens his grip just a bit.  _ Not the time _ , Gabe reminds himself forcefully. 

“Weird how you suddenly sound like me,” Gabe says through gritted teeth. Jack, for what it’s worth, doesn’t rise to the bait. 

“Listen, you had eyes on the ground,” Jack says. Gabe looks down at Jesse again. He needs medical attention - he might not be bleeding out, but the shock of losing a limb is more than enough to kill him. Gabe swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “They need your intel, Gabe.”

“Patch me through,” Gabe grits out, because it’s the right thing to do. Because if he spends another second fighting with Jack, it’s a second longer to get Jesse to medical. 

Which is how Gabe ends up talking Reinhardt, Torbjorn, Angela and Oxton - the new Overwatch cadet - through the infiltration of the power station that Null Sector was using as a hideout. Gabe cradles Jesse in his lap the whole time, keeping the fingers of one hand on the pulse point in Jesse’s neck. He keeps his voice steady and measured throughout the whole mission, even though he’s impatient, even though Jesse’s condition is worsening. At one point, he swears he hears Reinhardt’s booming voice over the sound of Null Sector omnics just outside of the pub. He definitely feels the explosion when Torbjorn’s contraption hits the door to the hideout. In his lap, Jesse winces. 

When the OR14s are down, everyone breathes a sigh of relief. Gabe listens in for the extraction details. 

“Wait for me,” Gabe says. There’s a pause on the other end of the comms. 

“Sir?” Reinhardt asks. 

“I’ll be there in a minute. Just - wait for me.”

“Yes sir,” Reinhardt says, even though there’s still a question mark in his voice. Gabe pockets his comm and looks down at Jesse. He’s awfully still and terribly pale, his heart beat fast and weak under Gabe’s fingers. He pushes some hair off of Jesse’s sweaty forehead. 

“Jesse,” Gabe says gently. “We have to go.”

Jesse blinks rapidly then focuses on Gabe’s face. “Now?”

“Yeah. Can you walk?”

Jesse blinks at him. “I lost my arm, not my legs,” he says, his words slurring together, just a little bit. He’s trying to put on a brave face. Gabe snorts, even though he wants to cry. He helps Jesse sit up, steadying him as he goes. Jesse wobbles, his eyes going unfocused, looking like he’s threatening to pass out for a moment. He doesn’t, though. He lets Gabe help him up and leans heavily into his side as they make their way down the stairs and out of the pub. 

They walk to the extraction point. It’s slow going. Jesse is going weaker and weaker in Gabe’s arms, his knees knocking together with each step. Gabe keeps him upright, murmuring reassurances in Jesse’s ear that are as much for Jesse as they are for himself. 

“Almost there,” Gabe says again and again. “Almost there.”

After what feels like miles and miles but was, in reality, only a few blocks, they find the transport shuttle waiting for them. Reinhardt is standing just outside the door, looking tired and beat up. He straightens when he see Gabe approaching. 

“Commander Reyes! And - is that McCree? What happened?” Reinhardt asks, immediately concerned. Angela sticks her head out of the transport shuttle. Gabe allows himself just a moment of relief. He already feels the adrenaline starting to drain away, only to be replaced by the intense anxiety he’d suppressed throughout this whole ordeal. He can’t let that happen yet - he needs to keep it together just a little while longer. 

“McCree needs medical,” Gabe says but Angela is already running towards them. Her eyes fall on Jesse’s arm - or what’s left of it. 

“What happened?” she asks, looking up at Gabe with wide eyes. She looks exhausted, nearly as beat up as Reinhardt. The omnic uprising was hard fought. 

“Some kind of plasma sword. I cleaned it as best I could, but…”

“Hey doc,” Jesse slurs, his head lolling against Gabe’s shoulder. His body choses that moment to shut down - as if he was holding on until just the right moment. His eyes roll back and he goes down like a sack of potatoes. Gabe manages to keep him from collapsing to the ground, even though the panic rises in his throat. The next several minutes are a blur as Angela and Reinhardt herd Gabe and Jesse into the transport shuttle. Angela manages to find an IV and fluids, as well as a biotic pack and some honest-to-god disinfectant - Gabe can’t help the resentful thought about Overwatch’s abundance of resources, but he can’t be too mad about it right now. He clings to Jesse’s remaining hand as Angela works and the shuttle flies them back to Switzerland. He’s only semi-aware of Reinhardt and Torbjorn and the cadet’s eyes on the scene in the back of the shuttle. Gabe’s focus is wholly on Jesse, who’s mostly unresponsive under Angela’s attention; his eyes are closed but his breathing has evened out, and he hasn’t let go of Gabe’s hand. Gabe doesn’t let go until they finally land at the Swiss base and Angela takes Jesse to surgery. He stops Angela before she gets too far. 

“I know you’re tired, but just - just don’t let Dr. O’Deorain operate, alright?” he says. Angela blinks and then nods. And then she’s gone. 

Gabe stands there a moment, in the shuttle bay, not sure what to do. Jack doesn’t come to find him - he must not know he was on the shuttle, or maybe he’s too busy dealing with the fallout of his rule breaking. Gabe doesn’t have it in himself to think  _ good _ , even though it’s high time Jack had to get a taste of what Gabe dealt with all the time. He’s too consumed with guilt, with worry. He goes to change and get cleaned up, because that’s what he’s supposed to do. He tries not to think about how many times he’s done this - how many times he’s sent Jesse out there, and how many times Jesse’s come back hurt, injured, missing another piece of himself. How much longer can Gabe do this to him?

Gabe ends up in the sickbay automatically, out of habit. He sits in his usual chair and waits, mentally berating himself for everything he’s put Jesse through - and what it has cost him. 

Time either passes extraordinarily quickly or the surgery goes fast. Either way, Angela and her team of nurses wheel Jesse out of the OR much sooner than Gabe expects. He hasn’t even resorted to pacing yet. He jumps to his feet, surprised and anxious. Angela gives him a tired look as the nurses push Jesse’s bed past Gabe. 

“He’ll be fine,” Angela says. “We cleaned up the amputation, treated the burns. We might have to graft some skin, but the SEP chemicals in his blood helped a fair amount.”

Gabe lets out his breath - it comes out like a sob, his shoulders shaking, the weight of the day suddenly crashing down on him. Angela puts a hand on his arm. 

“It’ll be alright, Gabriel,” she says gently. “Worse things could have happened.”

Gabe thanks her, trying not to think about the worse things. “Get some rest, Angela. You’ve done more than your share today.”

Angela nods - she doesn’t need telling twice. She assures him the nurses will keep an eye on Jesse overnight before she leaves the infirmary. 

Gabe goes to Jesse’s bedside but the anesthesia is still wearing off. Jesse looks better here, even in the harsh light of the infirmary. His face is calm, cleaner, just a small pinch between his eyebrows. Gabe bends down and presses a kiss to his forehead before he takes his usual seat at Jesse’s bedside. He waits, letting the steady beep of the monitors lull him into some state between sleep and waking. He holds Jesse’s remaining hand between both of his own, comforting himself more than anything. 

Jesse finally blinks his eyes open. He turns his head to the side automatically, looking for Gabe and finding him in his usual spot. He gives Gabe a tired smile - it’s more than physical exhaustion, though it’s certainly that too. 

“Hey,” Jesse says. Gabe squeezes his hand tightly. 

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“A little lighter,” Jesse says, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. He shifts a little, raising his left arm slightly before he settles again. He closes his eyes briefly. He doesn’t look back at Gabe now, avoiding his eyes. “It’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Gabe says, his voice getting stuck in his throat, suddenly choked with emotion. “You’re okay though. It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Jesse echoes. 

“If you wanted to…” Gabe finds himself saying, then he stops. Jesse raises his eyes to look at Gabe. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “If you wanted to be done, Jesse, I - I’d understand.”

“Done?” 

“With Blackwatch.”

Jesse doesn’t say anything for a long, long moment. The blood rushes in Gabe’s ears, his heart pounding in his throat. Jesse’s fingers flex in Gabe’s hand, but he doesn’t let go.

“Are you saying…” Jesse says, then trails off. 

“If you wanted to, I wouldn’t blame you,” Gabe says. His throat aches. For as long as he’s known Jesse, he’s tried to give him choices, to empower Jesse to be the decider of his own fate. He deserves at least that much. And now, if he wants it, he deserves to be able to walk away, to rest. He’s given enough of himself. Gabe can’t keep asking for more. 

“Gabe,” Jesse say. He shakes his head a little. “I don’t want to go. So long as you’ll… you’ll still have me?”

Gabe lets his breath out in a woosh. “Always, Jesse. That’s not in question.”

Jesse tugs on Gabe’s hands. He looks relieved, even though there’s still something a little unsure in his expression. 

“C’mere then,” Jesse says. Gabe scoots in close, leans down, lets Jesse press a small, trembly kiss to Gabe’s mouth. He leans his forehead against Jesse’s. “Thank you,” Jesse murmurs, barely audible. Gabe shakes his head, just once. 

“You don’t need to thank me,” Gabe says. 

“You’re always saving me. Always giving me another shot.”

“You deserve it.”

“Hardly.”

“No, you do,” Gabe says, pulling away to look Jesse in the eye. Jesse meets his look with a skeptical one of his own. Gabe brings one hand up to cup his cheek. “You do, Jesse.”

Jesse still looks skeptical, so Gabe leans in and kisses Jesse again, full of emotion. He feels Jesse melt into it. Something unravels in Gabe’s chest. He gets up, carefully, and slips onto the narrow hospital bed. Jesse crowds in close, fisting his hand in Gabe’s sweatshirt, pressing his face into Gabe’s neck. Gabe holds him tight, nose tucked into the hair at the top of Jesse’s head. His eyes fall on the neatly bandaged stump of Jesse’s left arm. He gathers him closer to his chest. They stay like that for a long time, quiet, lost in their own thoughts. 

“Someday I oughta return the favor,” Jesse says eventually, muffled into Gabe’s neck. Gabe squeezes him gently. 

“That’s not how it works.”

“Still,” Jesse says. Gabe presses a kiss into Jesse’s hair. Jesse peeks up at him. “It’s the least I could do.”

#  &1

The first time Jesse encountered Reaper, he knew immediately, instinctively that the monstrous creature was - at least in part - Gabe. He didn’t let himself believe it for a long, long time, but, eventually, it became an undeniable fact. 

“I can feel you,” Reaper said once, his gravelly voice going softer, like Gabe’s had been, and Jesse had felt his heart clench up. He felt him too; in his chest, in his pulse, in the very essence of his being. He tried to deny it, at first. He ran from Reaper and kept running, trying to escape the literal specter of his past. 

But running away from his problems never did Jesse much good, and eventually Reaper caught up with him. This time, when Reaper said to Jesse that he could feel him, Jesse said he could feel it too. When Reaper said he needed help, Jesse agreed to help him. 

He didn’t know what he was getting himself into, but it didn’t matter; if there really was even a scrap of Gabe in Reaper, Jesse owed him his life. It’s the least he can do. 

It turns out Reaper  _ is _ Gabe, more so than Jesse thought. He’s more human too; he might be mostly dead, and largely a smoke monster, but at his core, he’s human. It’s both a relief and a frightening prospect. 

It means there’s hope. 

One night, in a dark hotel room in a small town along the northern border of Slovenia, Jesse lies awake, unable to sleep. He’s been turning over an idea in his head for some time now, but he doesn’t know how to broach the subject. Reaper - he’s still  _ Reaper _ to Jesse, not quite Gabe, not really - is lying on the other side of the bed, asleep, or whatever approximates sleep for him. It doesn’t come easily for him, for either of them, really, and tonight is no different; Reaper twitches and groans, smoke spreading outwards from his body, slipping over the edges of the bed. Jesse sits up. 

“Hey - wake up,” he says into the darkness. He puts a hand out, through the smoke, searching for something solid. The smoke curls around his wrist and tightens, surprisingly substantial. Jesse tries to pull his hand away but the smoke tugs him in. A tendril wraps itself around his throat, choking him. “Don’t -”

The tendril of smoke tightens around his throat. Jesse scrabbles against it, head spinning for lack of oxygen. Maybe this was the plan all along - maybe Reaper had been playing him - maybe this is it - 

“Gabe,” Jesse gasps as a last ditch effort, and then, finally, the grip around his throat slackens. He sucks in a desperate breath. 

“Jesse?” Reaper’s voice asks, the tinge of Gabe’s old voice coming through the vocal fry. 

“Gabe, it’s me.”

The smoke withdraws and then Reaper’s face gets up close to Jesse’s. In the darkness of the hotel room, Jesse can’t see the details of his face - the way the flesh peels back from bone, exposing teeth and tendons - but he can see the red glow of his eyes. Jesse puts a hand to his own neck, massaging the tender skin. He’ll have bruises again - this isn’t the first time Reaper has woken up like this. 

“I was dreaming,” Reaper says. 

“I know,” Jesse says. He drops his hand. He hesitates. “What if… Someone could help with that?”

Reaper withdraws - Jesse feels the weight on the bed shift, the glow of his eyes turning away from him. 

“No.”

“Wouldn’t it be better?”

“No.”

“You’re being an asshole.”

Silence. Jesse sighs and scrubs at his face. “Listen to me,” Jesse says, his voice quiet. “I told you I’d help you - I know someone who can help you.”

“No.”

Reaper gets up off the bed. Jesse feels it dip from the shift in weight. He lurches towards the spot where Reaper was, a sudden panic rising in his chest - he doesn’t want Reaper to leave. 

“ _ Gabe _ ,” Jesse says, trying not to let his voice break. It’s a low blow, they both know it, but Reaper must stop and turn back to Jesse; he can see the glow of his eyes again. “I know it’s you - I can feel you, remember?” He hesitates. “What if you could be whole again?”

There’s a rustle of fabric and then Reaper is right up close to Jesse’s face again, the glint of red boring holes into Jesse’s face. He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t back away. He holds Reaper’s gaze as the silence stretches on between them. 

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I can help you.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“I mean it,” Jesse says, trying not to sound hurt by the clear skepticism in Reaper’s voice. “I think I know how this time.”

“How?”

Jesse takes a deep breath. “I give you a piece of my soul.”

✚✚✚

It hadn’t been Jesse’s idea. When Jesse realized that Reaper was Gabe, that Gabe was alive - sort of - he had tracked down Angela Ziegler and demanded to know how it was even possible; she was  _ there _ at the Swiss headquarters when it exploded, she had seen Gabe’s body, she  _ told _ Jesse that Gabe was gone. Angela had been as baffled as Jesse, but the more Jesse learned about Reaper, the more they were both convinced Reaper and Gabe were one and the same. 

Angela had explained that maybe something had gone awry with her resurrection tech when she had attempted to save Gabe’s life after the explosion - but she couldn’t know for sure. She’d have to see Reaper for herself to verify her hunch. 

“But,” Angela had warned. “There might not be much for me to do.”

“But if you could?”

“I’ll do my best, Jesse.”

It was Angela who had suggested the theoretical possibility of a sort of soul transfusion - even though she reiterated again and again that she wasn’t certain it was ethical, or even if she could do it, but Jesse latched onto the idea. 

Gabe had saved his life so many times, it was about time Jesse saved his. 

They travel to a private facility in Geneva and meet Angela there. It’s taken a long time to get to this point - for Reaper to trust Jesse enough, for Reaper to be tired enough of his half-living state to be willing to try something,  _ anything _ to get better. 

Reaper is nervous, skittish, suspicious of Angela. He resists her poking and prodding. Angela takes Jesse aside. 

“I don’t know, Jesse,” she says, shaking her head. 

“You have to try,” he insists. 

“If he doesn’t want it, we can’t force him.”

“I know that,” Jesse says. “He wouldn’t have come if he didn’t want this.”

“That’s not how medical consent works, Jesse.”

Jesse makes a frustrated noise. “Please, Angie. I’m begging you - I ain’t gonna ask for anything else, I just need you to please try.”

Angela looks at Jesse for a long moment. She glances in Reaper’s direction, then lowers her voice before she speaks. 

“This could kill you,” she says. “I’ve never done anything like this - it’s uncharted territory. We don’t know what it could do to you, we don’t know if it would even work…”

“Angela,” Jesse says, putting every ounce of seriousness he can muster into his voice. “I don’t care if it kills me - I need Gabe to be okay. After everything… I just need him to be okay, alright?”

That night, in the old Blackwatch safe house where they’re staying, Reaper watches Jesse move around the tiny cabin. 

“Why do you want to do this?” Reaper asks. Jesse glances at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“You know why.”

Reaper appears to think about this. Jesse keeps his hands busy - filling a tea kettle, setting it to boil, avoiding looking at Reaper. 

“There are more direct ways to kill yourself,” Reaper says finally. Jesse huffs out a laugh. 

“Yeah,” Jesse says. “Trust me, I know.”

“What if this doesn’t work? What if I remain… this?”

Jesse shrugs. He turns around, finally, and looks at Reaper, spreading his hands. “At least I tried, right?”

✚✚✚

Jesse lies back on the operating table, blinking up at the bright lights above him, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat - quick and anxious - on the monitors somewhere above his shoulder. He remembers, once, how he and Gabe used to joke about sharing a heartbeat. He turns his head to the side; on the table next to him, Reaper lies, inhumanly still. There are no vitals on his monitors. Jesse wonders what he’s thinking. 

Angela steps into his line of sight. She looks anxious - pinched. Jesse’s still not sure she actually wants to do this, but she’s here. They’re ready. It’s now or never. 

“Lie back, Jesse,” she says. “Don’t move. I can’t say for certain what you can expect, but…”

“It’s alright, doc,” Jesse says. “I trust you.”

Angela purses her lips and turns away to fiddle with some instruments laid out on a tray. Jesse got a look at them when he first came into the operating room, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of them. He settles back and turns his eyes back up to the ceiling again. He takes a deep breath and then closes his eyes. 

“Don’t move,” Angela says above him again. Jesse gives her a little nod and then he feels something sharp puncture his chest. 

Pain overcomes him. It takes him by surprise. He tries to gasp for breath but he can’t manage to draw air into his lungs. He tries to lift his head, but he finds that he can’t - his vision’s gone black, the sounds of the operating room feel very far away, and Jesse is floating in some kind of yawning void, suffocating as pain flows like electricity through his veins. 

Through the panic, Jesse tries to focus. He knew to expect something like this - terrifying and inexplicable. He has to focus. He’s doing this for Gabe. 

He focuses on that. He zeroes in on Gabe and how things used to be, before Jesse went and took the coward’s way out, abandoning Gabe, leaving him to suffer in Blackwatch alone, leaving him to die at the Swiss base -

Jesse has to stop himself from pursuing that train of thought. It makes the vacuum squeeze the rest of the air out of him, drag him down further into the void. Angela warned him this might happen. He has to keep his wits about him. 

Gabe. He thinks about Gabe, how he remembers him. Gabe, whose expression never betrayed his thoughts except when they were alone. Gabe, whose hair grew curly when it wasn’t buzzed close. Gabe, whose strong hands carried Jesse to safety on more than one occasion; those same strong hands that knew just where to touch him to make him moan. Jesse misses those hands. He misses the callus on his trigger finger, the scar that circled one of his thumbs, how warm and dry and steady they felt on his own skin. How Gabe could touch the small of his back, ever so lightly, or cup his shoulder, and Jesse would feel instantly reassured. How Gabe could pull Jesse in, redirect him, guide him, help him… 

Jesse sucks in a breath. He opens his eyes but he’s surrounded by darkness. He’s not in the operating room any more. He sits up, looks around. In the corner of the darkened room, a figure sits on the floor, hunched into itself. 

“Gabe?” Jesse asks. His voice echoes in his ears and through the room, bouncing off walls he can’t see, reverberating in his bones. The figure lifts its head and warm, familiar eyes look back at him, wide and wondering. 

“Jesse?” It’s Gabe’s voice - hoarse, maybe, but unmistakably his. Jesse runs to him. Gabe doesn’t move, tilting his head up to look at Jesse as he kneels in front of him. 

“Gabe - you’re here.”

“What did you do?” 

“I’m gonna get you back, Gabe. Right where you belong.”

Gabe searches Jesse’s face. “Jesse,” he says, his voice quiet. “What did you do?”

Jesse blinks. “Gabe?” he asks. He reaches out to touch him but Gabe melts away. Jesse feels his breath stick in his throat again. 

Not panicking. Not panicking. Not panicking. 

Jesse squeezes his eyes closed. When he opens them, this time, it’s too bright. It takes several moments for his eyes to adjust. He’s back in the operating room but, somehow, hovering above his body on the operating table. Angela is there, her brow furrowed in concentration. She’s hunched over a bright, glowing orb that floats just above Jesse’s own chest. It’s a strange feeling, being on the operating table and above it simultaneously. He watches as Angela lifts her hands, a ribbon of light unraveling from the orb. Jesse can feel it, somehow - like something unravelling from deep inside him. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it’s - it’s - it’s -

It’s too much. This was a mistake. 

✚✚✚

Jesse wakes in stages. He’s never felt so tired, so wrung out. Opening his eyes feels like an enormous, insurmountable effort. He can’t tell if he’s really awake, or how much time passes, but eventually, eventually, Jesse manages to crack an eye open. 

He’s in one of the patient rooms at the private medical facility. There’s a window to his left, a soft shaft of sunlight falling onto the blankets tucked over his torso. Jesse looks down at his chest, which feels like it’s been crushed and reinflated. He can’t see anything under the thin hospital gown and his limbs are too tired to raise to see what might be underneath. 

Maybe his luck has finally run out. 

Jesse closes his eyes again. The soft beeping of the monitors beside his bed remain steady, almost soothing. He starts to drift back to sleep. 

“Are you awake?” a voice asks, somewhere to his right. It’s familiar, a little hoarse. It takes an enormous amount of effort, but Jesse manages to peel his eyes open again - he has to know. 

Jesse rolls his head to the right and there, on the other bed next to his, Gabe is lying with his head turned toward Jesse. He looks worse for wear - sallow, thin - but it’s him. 

Jesse must be dreaming. 

There’s another set of monitors by Gabe’s bed, but Jesse only hears one set of sounds. It must be a dream after all. He smiles at Gabe. 

“Hey,” he says, his own voice coming out hoarse. “Y’look like shit.”

The corner of Gabe’s mouth twitches up. Jesse can see where the skin has knit back together over his teeth. It gives him pause. 

“Well, I was dead,” Gabe says. Jesse blinks. His heart rate picks up, the monitor’s beeping going faster, and then Jesse hears the second set of vitals beeping from the monitors next to Gabe’s bed. 

“Was?” Jesse echoes. Gabe smiles a little wider, even though there’s something like hesitation or worry in his eyes. 

“That’s what the doctor says,” Gabe says. 

“Does that… Did we…?”

“Soulmates, Angela called us,” Gabe says. He still looks unsure. 

“It worked?” 

Gabe nods. “It worked.” 

Soulmates. Jesse could laugh - he  _ does  _ laugh, even though it hurts. He needs, desperately, to be closer to Gabe. Instead, all he can do is shift his hand on the bed, fingers reaching in Gabe’s direction. 

“It’s too much, Jesse,” Gabe says softly. “You shouldn’t have…”

“Gabe,” Jesse breathes, blinking the tears out of his eyes. “After everything, I had to. It’s the least I could do.”

Gabe gets up out of his bed with a tremendous effort, his limbs shaking. His skin still looks pale, mottled, healing in places where wounds hadn’t healed in years and years. It’s only a couple of steps before he manages to haul himself up onto Jesse’s bed. Jesse can’t move very much, but the substantial weight of Gabe’s body is wholly welcome. Gabe tucks himself in close and Jesse turns his face into Gabe’s neck. His skin isn’t clammy like Reaper’s was - it’s warm and dry. 

“I can’t believe it worked,” he says, muffled. 

“Soulmates,” Gabe says again. His voice wavers. Jesse doesn’t say anything, too overcome. They lie there, tangled in each others arms, marvelling at the impossibility of it all. 

The sound of footsteps doesn’t stir them. 

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Angela says. Jesse turns his head just enough to peek over Gabe’s shoulder. 

“It worked?” Jesse asks. Angela’s face softens. 

“As far as I can tell,” she nods. “We still have to run more tests, keep an eye on you, make sure sure that Gabriel doesn’t reject the transfusion…”

Jesse’s only half-listening. He tips his head up to look at Gabe, eyes searching his face. Gabe meets his gaze with an unsure look of his own. 

“Are you sure?” Gabe asks. 

“No going back now,” Jesse says. His fingers find Gabe’s and tangle together. “Besides, I owed you.”

“You didn’t have to…”

“Gabe,” Jesse interrupts, squeezes his hand. “Soulmates, remember?”

**Author's Note:**

> You guys, this is my last fic for SALTapalooza and I'm feeling all kinds of sad about it. I've been working on this with fabrega for most of this year and it's become a huge part of my life. It's going to be really weird not updating on Saturdays! 
> 
> I cannot begin to describe how much each and every one of your comments, kudos, and sweet words of encouragement have meant to me. When we started this project, we envisioned something small and silly, 2k per fic, and a week's worth of content - and maybe a handful of folks would read it and get something nice out of it. Instead, we've collectively written over 100k and people come to tell us that they look forward to our fic on Saturdays. It's been a humbling, truly mind-blowing experience. 
> 
> **Thank you** , from the bottom of my heart, for being such incredible, thoughtful, sweet and encouraging readers ♥ I sincerely could not have done this without you all ♥


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